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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23719342">Leave What's Heavy</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/casson/pseuds/casson'>casson</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Women's Soccer RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Small Town, F/F, One Thousand Years of Slow Burn, Slow Burn, idiots to lovers, the slowest burn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 22:07:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>140,515</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23719342</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/casson/pseuds/casson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Christen Press picks up and moves to a tiny town in Oregon at the recommendation of an old friend, her only goals are to forget her dark past, keep her secrets, and stay under the radar. But after she accidentally crash-lands into town with all eyes on her, she finds herself forced to choose between the life of solitude she'd planned and the friendships she'd always dreamed of-- especially with the town's charming It-Girl, Tobin Heath.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tobin Heath/Christen Press</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>640</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1097</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The early morning sun, filtering through the trees, sent dappled shadows dancing through the windshield of Christen’s car and across her hands on the steering wheel. It was just past six in the morning, and the sun was just starting to make its way up into a clear blue sky, but Christen had already been on the road for a few hours now. She’d gotten up almost three hours ago, too jittery and excited to sleep any longer in the dingy roadside motel she’d found just across the California border into Oregon.</p><p>After a few hours on the highway, with a pit stop outside Eugene to grab a coffee to go, she had turned onto the road she was driving on now: a narrow, winding two-lane road that snaked its way placidly along a steep mountainside. Towering evergreens rose high into the sky on either side, obscuring any view of the valley where she was heading.</p><p><em>Everything here seems friendlier than California</em>, Christen mused as she carefully slowed down to take a sharp corner. <em>Calmer. More at peace. The trees, the breeze, the sun, even this little road</em>.</p><p>“All right, Christen, calm down,” she said aloud to herself in the stillness of the little car, “Not like the LA weather was ever anything but nice to you.”</p><p>In the beat of silence afterwards, she couldn’t help but laugh out loud. She’d always had a predilection of talking aloud to herself. But the chuckle died in her throat at the next dark thought that crossed her mind: <em>Good thing you’re already used to talking to yourself, but you’re going to be doing a whole lot more of it from now in, with nobody else to talk to. </em></p><p>Pushing the thought, and the accompanying nag of anxiety, aside, Christen looked for something to distract her. She reached instinctively for the button to roll down the window. “Ow!” she muttered to herself as her finger jabbed into a random air vent. Apparently the window buttons on this new car were not in the same place as they were on her old convertible.</p><p>After a bit more nervous fumbling, trying to keep her eyes on the road, Christen successfully rolled both the front windows all the way down. The sudden dash of cold, fresh, piney air in her lungs made her feel giddy with happiness. In LA, she rarely drove with the windows down or put down the convertible top, because wherever she was going, she never wanted to get her hair messed up. It always had to be perfectly straightened, professional, not a curl out of place. But here: who cared? Who was she trying to impress anyway?</p><p><em>Nobody to impress but yourself</em>. She thought. <em>Nobody’s values to live up to but your own</em>.</p><p>A sudden ringing off to the side made her jump a little before she realized it was just the sound of the GPS voice on her new phone, which was propped up on the dashboard. She had de-activated her old phone just a couple days ago, a mammoth, shiny contraption almost the size of her face, and picked up a small older model iPhone. The voice on Apple maps was a little tinny and robotic as it announced, “In. 20 miles. Take a right off of Valley View Road onto South Main Street, Barberry Stone, Oregon.”</p><p>Just 20 miles away from Barberry Stone already! She’d be a little earlier than she was expected. To kill time, maybe she would drive around town a little, soaking in the sights of the quaint little streets she’d been viewing only on Google Maps for the last few months. Maybe she’d find a café and sit in the corner, unnoticed, and people watch. Or maybe she’d drive around Barberry Stone High School and try to guess which windows looked in on her new classroom. Maybe she’d take a peek at the soccer fields; maybe some of the players she was coaching in the fall would be there already, practicing. For once, the long list of options filled her with excitement, instead of overwhelming her with anxiety. She knew she didn’t have to do everything she wanted to right away, since the school year didn’t start for another three weeks. For the first time in perhaps her whole life, she had a little freedom to take it easy. To take the days as they came.</p><p>“Mom, look, I’m here,” Christen spoke aloud dreamily into the breeze that filled the little car. “I made it. I made it out. Are you proud?”</p><p>The gusting breeze seemed to speak back: <em>Yes, so proud</em>.</p><p>But there was an undercurrent of dread at the fringes.</p><p>“I know, I know, ‘the work’s not done.’ The work’s never done.” Christen muttered out loud to herself, furrowing her brow as she navigated a particularly narrow turn. She tried not to look too far to her right, where the cliff dropped precipitously just a few feet off the road. “But it’s a start, right? I’m on the right path now. Don’t worry, Mom, I’ll make everything right.” Out of the corner of her eye, she glanced at her gray purse tucked under the passenger seat: a new purchase, with all her secrets stored safely inside. “I promise,” she added, tearing her eyes away from the purse.</p><p>As if on cue – as if her mom was somehow answering her – Christen took another turn and gasped at the sight that unfolded before her. The thick screen of trees around the road suddenly gave way, and a glowing green valley, rimmed with gently sloping, forested mountains, spread out beyond. The rising sun cast a calm, rosy glow over the whole scene, and winked invitingly off the river that wound through the grassy plains. Little clusters of houses were scattered through the valley.</p><p>“Wow…” Christen marveled out loud, peering out over the tranquil scene. She felt shivers graze down her spine as she looked out at what was going to be her new home. “Mom, it’s beautiful.”</p><p>As Christen’s little car took another bend in the road, the scene was obscured again by towering evergreens that closed in tight against the cliffside. Christen mourned the loss of the scenery a little, but it wasn’t a big deal. She’d be down in that valley before long, for good. If she missed these views, she could always take little weekend drives up here to take in the view. <em>I bet the hikes around here are fantastic</em>, she mused. <em>Maybe I can get a few good hikes in before the school year starts and the weather starts getting too cold</em>.</p><p>As Christen rounded yet another bend in the road, a few things happened at once.</p><p>There was an huge white tractor trailer bearing down the road in the other lane, right towards her. Christen gripped her steering wheel tighter, nervous. <em>It’s coming so fast</em>.</p><p><em>And it’s not slowing down</em>.</p><p>She tried to pull closer to the side of the road, but with the cliff right there, that wasn’t going to work. Panicking as she saw herself drifting too close to the edge, she jerked the steering wheel the other way and drifted over into the left lane. The urgent, high-pitched blare of the tractor trailer’s horn filled her ears.</p><p><em>Shit, shit, shit</em>.</p><p>Leaning on the wheel the other way, she swerved back out of the left lane just in the nick of time. The tractor trailer blazed by, so close that it smashed the rearview mirror clean off the side of Christen’s car.</p><p><em>That was too close</em>, she thought in dazed relief.</p><p>And then, suddenly, there was nothing under the right side of the car but air.</p><p>The car tumbled side over side down the steep slope, smashing and bouncing through tree branches and over boulders, until it careened windshield-first into the wide trunk of a tree far, far below.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>Am I alive?</em>
</p><p>Christen’s head was pounding, her vision was bleary, she couldn’t think straight. But she could feel her heartbeat racing, a million miles per hour. <em>I’m alive</em>, she realized. <em>Okay. I’m alive</em>.</p><p>Down the cliffside, in the thicket of trees, it was dark. The windshield of her car was completely shattered, and the roof was dented violently inwards. Strangely, she didn’t feel any pain at all, though she was having trouble keeping her thoughts straight, and her vision was blurring in and out. She blinked around, trying blearily to figure out next steps. Her phone was no longer on the dashboard. Had it flown out of one of the open windows? Was it on the ground?</p><p>Christen tried to sit up to see if the phone was anywhere in the car, and that’s when the first spasm of pain hit: a flame that shot up the left side of her body, so violently she screamed. And when she screamed, she tasted something metallic in her mouth, on her face.</p><p>She brought her right hand tentatively up to her cheek, and when she looked down at it, it was covered in blood.</p><p>That’s when she started to panic.</p><p><em>Okay okay okay calm down, baby steps</em>, she tried to tell herself, even though she could feel her breaths coming in quick gasps, even though her vision was starting to go a little spotty. <em>If you can find your phone, you can call 911, and that’s that. </em></p><p>And if not?</p><p><em>If you can’t find your phone, you just need to get out of this car and get back up to the road. Easy</em>. <em>Right? Baby steps. </em></p><p>Step one was going to be taking off her seat belt. Carefully maneuvering her right arm down, she fumbled with the buckle and managed to get it loose. But when she tried to wiggle her left arm out from under the belt, the horrible pain ripped through her left side again, from her leg all the way up her neck, leaving her crying out and writhing in pain in the seat.</p><p>“Okay Christen, just don’t move your left side, you idiot,” she muttered to herself after the pain finally subsided long enough for her to think straight. Easier said than done, of course, as she still had to look for her phone. Gritting her teeth hard against the pain she now knew was coming, she eased her torso around in her seat and scanned the dark, smashed-up interior of the car.</p><p>Her phone was nowhere in sight.</p><p><em>Plan B</em>, she thought to herself through the haze of pain. <em>You’re a Press, and a Press is always in control. A Press always has a Plan B</em>. <em>Plan B is somehow getting out of the car.</em></p><p>Crying out loud again through the violent pain, she reached her right arm around to grasp at the door handle. It didn’t open. She just barely had the presence of mind to smash at the door lock, to try every possible combination of buttons: no luck. <em>The lock must be jammed</em>.</p><p>Christen was starting to feel deliriously lightheaded, and her vision was starting to darken around the edges. At the sight of the blood on the useless door handles, she started to feel the panic and bile rise in her throat again. The pain was getting worse; now, even just sitting here, not moving, it seemed to radiate in sharp, never-ending waves through her entire body. It had already been a few long minutes since she’d been down here; if the truck driver or anybody else had seen her fall, they would’ve been here by now. Maybe the truck driver saw her fall and decided not to stop.</p><p>Her head swam; the dark branches and dashboard in front of her blurred together, faded out to double vision, came back together.</p><p><em>Is this it? Mom, is this it for me?</em> Christen found herself filled, out of nowhere, with rage<em>. </em></p><p>
  <em>I make it out of there, I’m starting my own life, but before I even get anywhere, I’m going to die? I’m going to die alone, in the woods? I’m going to die in fucking Oregon?</em>
</p><p>“FUCK!” Christen screamed, and with a rage-fueled strength she didn’t realize she still had in her, in one final, desperate attempt to get out, she grasped for the handle and flung her entire body up against the door.</p><p>The lock clicked, the door sprang open, dragging Christen with it, and she tumbled face-first into the dirt next to the wreck.</p><p><em>Okay, okay, baby steps are working…owwww</em>…Christen couldn’t help but wail a little as she rolled over onto her back. The adrenaline rush was gone as quickly as it’d came, leaving just the pain again, now worse than ever, spreading like a fire through her back. For what felt like ages – she couldn’t keep track anymore – she lay there, blinking up at the blurry, fading tree branches far, far overhead.</p><p><em>Plan B involves getting yourself up to the road!</em>, a faint voice inside her head was still urging, but she knew it wasn’t happening. Her vision was starting to go all the way dark. She didn’t even know which way the road was, and she couldn’t move her body to figure it out. Her thoughts were starting to scatter, too; she couldn’t make herself think straight, she couldn’t remember what she was trying to do.</p><p>“Okay,” she muttered to herself. <em>I’ll just rest a little more. I’ll just lie here and close my eyes and when I wake up I’ll go</em>.</p><p>“Okay,” she whispered again, just drifting off.</p><p>The darkness felt so good.</p><p>“Okay,” responded a deep voice, not her own, from just above her.</p><p>Christen’s eyes blinked sluggishly open. Her vision was still shadowy, blurry, unreliable – was there something in her eye? But unmistakably, there was somebody standing over her, a figure in a white shirt silhouetted against the trees. “Okay,” the person was saying, in the most soothing voice Christen had ever heard, “I got you, okay?”</p><p>“Did you find them? Are they alive? I’m calling the ambulance!” A voice yelled from somewhere far off.</p><p>“I got her, Kel!” the person near Christen shouted back. “It’s bad. Tell them to head up South Fork instead of Valley View; it’ll be faster to bring her downhill than uphill.”</p><p>“I’m on it!” </p><p>Christen's eyes had fluttered shut again. She could hear the yelling, but couldn’t quite process the words that were being said. It was all so loud. She just wanted to drift off quietly, into the darkness, just to take a little nap.</p><p>“Whoa whoa whoa, stay with me, okay?” The figure was now crouching by Christen’s side, warm hands drifting over her face, brushing first against her hair, then her cheek, then her lip. “Can you hear me? Can you say ‘yes’ if you can hear me?”</p><p>“No,” Christen grumbled. She thought she heard a chuckle.</p><p>“Looks like your temple…hm, lip as well…here, hold still, okay?” Christen felt a soft, warm cloth bunching against the side of her head, putting weight on her temple. “Take a couple deep breaths through your nose for me, can you do that? I’m going to put some pressure on your lip, it might hurt a little. Just keep taking those breaths.”</p><p>Christen tried her best to comply, though even breathing made her chest ache. The scent of the cloth was heady and warm and calming: it smelled like sunshine, like wind, like mint, like evergreen. She took one breath, then another, reveling in the smell. “That’s great, you’re doing amazing,” the voice murmured.</p><p>Then she felt a warm, calloused finger press down against her upper lip as well, and just like the person had warned, it hurt like hell. She moaned, trying to lean away from the pain.</p><p> “I know, I know it hurts.” The person’s voice said compassionately, but the finger chased her down, came back to her lip. “But you gotta stay still, okay? You’re doing so great, keep taking those breaths.” As Christen tried to breathe, tried to focus on the intoxicating smell of the cloth, the voice rambled on above her, keeping her awake. “I can’t believe you got yourself out of the car – Kelley and I were yelling at you to stay put, but I think we were too far away, you probably couldn’t hear us.” The person chuckled. “I know you want to sleep, but stay with me for a couple more minutes. Just stay super still for me, okay? You’re doing great. I got you. I got you.”</p><p>Christen tried to hang on. She thought she heard the person repeating over and over, “I got you, okay? Good girl. Stay with me.” She thought she felt fingers brushing carefully, evaluatively, over her face, her neck, her shoulders. She felt the person adjusting the cloth on her forehead, putting pressure on it, making her writhe in pain. After a while, she thought she heard sirens wailing nearby, and then a conversation happening right overhead. Drifting in and out, she only caught a few sentences:</p><p>“The ambulance is almost here; I directed them down to South Fork like you said – geez, where’d your shirt go? Here, take my jacket, you can‘t just be standing around in your bra when the team gets here.”</p><p>“Thanks, did you tell them to bring the stretcher up? And a neck brace?”</p><p>“Yeah, they’ll be here in a minute. Do you think she’s going to make it?”</p><p>Christen thought she heard many more footsteps crunching in the dirt and leaves all around her, thought she heard the sound of more voices, maybe the crackle of a radio. She thought she heard a man's voice saying, “Community Hospital, this is Kyle with Ambulance 9. We're bringing in the call from Kelley: female, mid-twenties, car crash off Valley View, serious injuries, not conscious. ETA 25 minutes."</p><p>Through the hubbub, she thought she heard her person’s now-familiar voice by her side, saying:</p><p>“Let’s watch her head, it’s bleeding a lot…I think her lip too…”</p><p>“Hey, be more careful!”</p><p>“It’s her left side, shoulder too, maybe collarbone; we need another brace.”</p><p>She felt herself being lifted, carried off, and immediately missed the feeling of the person’s voice hovering over her, the intoxicating scent of that cloth against her head.</p><p>From the distance, she thought she heard that man's voice say, “I’ve radioed ahead to let them know to prep an OR. Thanks for calling in, Kelley. You probably saved her life.”</p><p>And she thought she heard a woman respond, “Oh, it was nothing. I made the call, but honestly, the save was all Tobin.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next time Christen’s eyes flickered open, it was dark.</p>
<p>She’d awoken to the low murmur of voices, somewhere close by. Blinking slowly, she realized that she was in a hospital bed in a dark room. A dull buzz of machinery filled the air, and a low, droning beep of some monitor or other pulsed in the background. A dimly lit analog wall clock announced that it was 2 AM.</p>
<p>And there were two women in the corner, whispering to each other. Slowly coming to, Christen lay there and let the whispered, half-heard words swirl around her in the dark, not recognizing what they meant at all.  She felt…oddly light. Warm and cozy. Blissful, even.</p>
<p>“No, <em>you</em> go home,” one girl was saying. She was sitting crouched in an armchair, legs tucked up against her chest. “You’re the one who has to work tomorrow, Tobin.”</p>
<p>“I’m not leaving,” the other girl responded, in a low, husky voice. She was perched on the low windowsill, leaning back against the wall. “Didn’t Ali say she was supposed to wake up four hours after surgery? It’s been four hours. Do you think we should call her to let her know something might be wrong?”</p>
<p>“I think Ali said that the <em>soonest</em> she would <em>possibly</em> be awake was four hours after surgery,” the first girl, the one in the armchair, said. “I mean, all things considered, Hot Mystery Girl might sleep until morning. She’s had a rough day. Which means that you should also go home and sleep until morning.”</p>
<p>“I’m not leaving,” the other girl repeated obstinately.</p>
<p>“What, why? So your pretty smile can be the first thing she sees when she wakes up? <em>Ouch</em>!” Armchair Girl hissed as she was swatted on the arm in retaliation. “Hey, at least I called you pretty!”</p>
<p>“I’m just saying! There wasn’t an ID or anything in her bag.” The girl gestured towards a nondescript gray purse tucked under the armchair. “So we couldn’t call anyone. There’s no one here for her. Wouldn’t you be scared? Wouldn’t you want a familiar face nearby when you wake up in a strange hospital bed?” The girl’s voice was hesitant, a little slow, as if she was trying to convince herself as much as she was trying to convince her friend.</p>
<p>“Tobes, I hate to break it to you, but it’s not like your face is going to be super familiar to her. Wasn’t there all, like, blood in her eyes this morning? Besides, Ali said she might not even remember anything from the crash. Also, she’s gonna be so drugged up.” </p>
<p>After a bit of a pause, the girl in the armchair piped up again. “Where do you think she was going? Maybe inland to Mt. Hood? She had those two suitcases in the trunk, it seems like she was going on a long trip.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, maybe. She’s definitely not getting there anytime soon, though, with the injuries. Man, did you see the way she got herself out of the car this morning? Especially now, knowing the extent of her injuries? What a badass. Oh, and when I checked on the car this afternoon Ashlyn said it was totaled. Probably not salvageable.”</p>
<p>“Bummer.” Then, in a lower voice, “Did you find the truck driver?”</p>
<p>A pause. “Yep.”</p>
<p>When it became clear that no other information was being offered up, Armchair Girl continued, “What about her phone?”</p>
<p>“Found it in the woods. I brought it to Becky to see if she could fix it.”</p>
<p>“And how long did you have to crawl through the bushes looking for it before you found it?”</p>
<p>Another pause. “I mean, just an hour or two.”</p>
<p>Armchair Girl chuckled disbelievingly. “Tobin, Tobin, Tobin. What has gotten into you?! I can just see the headline now: <em>Local Paramedic Falls for Hot Mystery Girl Passing Through Town, Never Sees Her Again In Her Life</em>.”</p>
<p>“Well…” The girl mumbled something that tapered off, indistinguishable.  </p>
<p>“Sorry, what?”</p>
<p>Her voice picks up again, a little louder, but still sort of an embarrassed mumble. “I <em>said</em>…her car had Oregon license plates…”</p>
<p>Armchair Girl barked out a high, incredulous laugh. “<em>TobesI </em>Are you—oh my god, you’re serious. So Hot Mystery Girl might be from around here, so what? You don’t even know anything about her except she’s got a super high pain tolerance, apparently, and lives somewhere in this very large state, and is smoking hot.”</p>
<p>“You’ve fallen in love with girls with less intel than that, Kel,” the girl snorted.</p>
<p>Armchair Girl rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to retort, then shrugged in resignation. “Okay, fine. I’m just saying…wait, did you say you <em>fallen in l</em>—”</p>
<p>“Don’t worry, I don’t love her, and I’m not going to like, stalk her or anything, I just want to see if she’s okay. In a professional way. As the professional person who professionally rescued her.”</p>
<p>“Okay…” Armchair Girl muttered back skeptically.</p>
<p>By this point, Christen was slightly more awake. She hadn’t really heard what the girls in the corner were saying, and she didn’t particularly care. She felt floaty. So delightful. The room seemed to move in dark squiggles around her, which made her grin for no particular reason. Her left arm was in a sling, but why? It felt fine, like it didn’t need a sling or anything. No pain at all. On the other hand, what was this thing on her other arm, strapped into the inside of her elbow? It was so itchy. She didn’t like it. She wanted it off.</p>
<p>Absentmindedly, Christen yanked an IV out of her right arm.</p>
<p>Tobin and Kelley, mid-whisper, both jumped in their seats as a sudden loud beeping filled the room. They looked over, and their Hot Mystery Girl was sitting up in bed, staring quizzically at them, her right arm casually bleeding onto the blanket.</p>
<p>“Shit, shit, shit!” Tobin leapt off of the windowsill and to the bedside. “Kelley, go get Ali!”</p>
<p>Kelley ran to the door, flung it open, and shouted down the hallway, “ALI! SHE’S AWAKE! SOMEONE GET ALI!”</p>
<p>“Kelley, not like that!” Tobin exclaimed.</p>
<p>“Oh, sorry,” Kelley dashed back to the door and added, at the same screaming volume, “I MEAN, DR. KRIEGER! SOMEONE GET DR. KRIEGER!”</p>
<p>(Right on cue, somebody shouted back from a room down the hall, “IS THAT KELLEY O’HARA? SHUT THE FUCK UP!”)</p>
<p>“Fucking hell, Kel,” Tobin muttered under her breath, turning back to Christen and fumbling with the catheter that Christen had flung across the bedspread.</p>
<p>Christen was not enjoying this sudden turn of events. Everything was so loud, with the yelling and the cursing and the panic and the blood. Sharp, fluorescent light was pouring in from the open door, stinging her eyes, making her head pound. And now this random woman was standing at her bedside, holding a scary needle in her hand, trying to poke it at Christen’s arm.</p>
<p>“Stop, no, I don’t want it,” Christen whined, flinching away. “It’s itchy. Go away!”</p>
<p>“I know it’s itchy, but I have to put it back; it’s, uh, good for you.” Tobin scrambled around for some gauze. “Look, you’re bleeding, let me at least stop the bleeding, okay?”</p>
<p>“Fine,” Christen grumbled. Like an obedient child, she held her arm out as Tobin pulled up a rolling chair and got settled at the bedside, pressing some gauze up against the inside of Christen’s elbow.</p>
<p>“I’m Tobin,” Tobin said softly, almost to herself, glancing up at Christen through her eyelashes. Her expression was a little hopeful, a little unsure.</p>
<p>Christen’s eyes traced absentmindedly over Tobin, her sharp jaw illuminated in the light cast from the hallway, her tanned and veiny arms, the warm, calloused grip of her hand on Christen’s elbow. “Hey,” Christen said suddenly, squinting more closely at Tobin. “You’re my person.”</p>
<p>“I’m…your what?” Tobin said, her round brown eyes meeting Christen’s and a blush rising high on her neck, as Kelley cackled in delight in the background.</p>
<p>“You’re my person from my car,” Christen responded, slowing lifting her right hand until her finger bumped up against Tobin’s cheek. Christen moved her fingertip around in circles against her skin. It was warm, and so soft. “You smelled good. And you’re so pretty. You were at my car, right?”</p>
<p>“I was at your car,” Tobin confirmed, an enormous, eye-crinkling grin spreading uncontrollably across her face.</p>
<p>“Shut up, this is so cute I’m going to vomit,” Kelley whispered.</p>
<p>“You were at my car,” Christen said again, poking Tobin’s cheek a few more times with her finger and giggling. With an enormous amount of concentration, she maneuvered her finger around to poke at her own cheek. “I was <em>also</em> at my car,” she informed Tobin proudly.</p>
<p>“Oh my god, she’s <em>so</em> high, this is amazing,” Kelley added under her breath, as Tobin just sat there and grinned like an idiot at Christen.</p>
<p>Then rapid footsteps were sounding in the hallway, and a doctor in a white coat, with her hair swept up into a high bun, entered the room. “Ali, look who’s awake!” Kelley gestured excitedly.</p>
<p>“Yes, I heard, along with this entire hospital wing, Kel,” Ali said dryly, shutting the door softly behind her and flicking on a small bedside lamp that bathed the room with a soft, rosy glow. “So thanks for screaming that down the hallway. I thought you guys wanted to stay here to keep an eye on her? What happened?”</p>
<p>“Sorry, we didn’t notice she woke up, and then she pulled out her IV before we realized,” Tobin apologized, guiltily handing the catheter back to Ali and scooting her chair back towards the wall.</p>
<p>“And you were right, she’s so high; these drugs are really working on her,” Kelley added excitedly. Hearing this, Christen frowned. <em>Hey, I don’t do drugs!</em></p>
<p>“You guys are useless,” Ali muttered affectionately, stepping up to the bedside and checking the chart affixed to the wall above Christen’s head.</p>
<p>Distracted from her study of Tobin, Christen beamed up at the new visitor. She liked this new lady. She was so calm, and now the room was calm with her in it. Her face was so nice, and her hair was nice, and her eyes were nice.</p>
<p>“Well, I’m glad to see you’re awake!” Ali said softly, peering down at Christen, quickly patting over her cast and the bandages on her face to check them. “And how are you feeling?”</p>
<p>“I’m feeling great,” Christen beamed. “I like your face.”</p>
<p>“Oh, well, thank you!” Ali said, maintaining a professional tone as she squinted to check Christen’s stitches.</p>
<p>Kelley elbowed Tobin and whispered, “Oof, looks like you’re not the only one Hot Mystery Girl is hitting on!”</p>
<p>Tobin elbowed back, hard. “Hey Kel, did you notice you’re the only one she <em>hasn’t</em> hit on? Wonder what that says?”</p>
<p>“<em>Children</em>!”  Ali shot them a warning glare over her shoulder, and Tobin and Kelley both receded contritely to the foot of the bed.</p>
<p>“My name is Ali,” Ali said, inserting the IV back into Christen’s arm, so smoothly Christen didn’t even realize it as she smiled blissfully up at the doctor. “What’s your name?”</p>
<p>“My name is…” Christen paused.</p>
<p>She glanced around the room, from the doctor to the two girls at the back of the room. For some reason, her gleeful state was disrupted, and a vague doubt tugged at the back of her mind, like a dim warning bell. <em>Why was this a hard question? Why didn’t she want to tell these nice ladies her name? They were so nice. It shouldn’t be a problem</em>.</p>
<p>“Does she not remember her name?” Tobin worriedly inched closer to the front of the bed. “Do you think it’s her head? Is there memory loss?”</p>
<p>“Tobin…” Ali warned, signaling for her to move back again. Perching on the bed so that she was eye-to-eye with Christen, Ali tried again. “Do you remember your name? Can you tell me what it is?”</p>
<p><em>Don’t be silly, stupid, why wouldn’t you what to tell people what your name is?</em> Pushing past the doubt, she decided to answer. “My name is Christen,” Christen responded hesitantly.</p>
<p>“Okay, fantastic, Christen,” Ali responded, crossing out <em>JANE DOE</em> on the chart and writing down, <em>KRISTEN</em>. “And what’s your last name?”</p>
<p>There they were again, the warning bells, louder this time. A strange feeling, like a memory deep down, that she should not, under any circumstances, say her last name out loud. “I…” Christen paused, eyes wide. She glanced towards the window, and then towards the door, then down at her own feet. “I don’t….I’m not sure…”</p>
<p>“That’s okay, it’s fine, let’s try another question,” Ali said, sensing Christen’s distress. “Is there anyone we can get for you? Can you give us a name of someone you’d like to see?”</p>
<p><em>Oh, an easy question!</em> Christen grinned. “I would like to see my mom.”</p>
<p>“Great, we can call her for you,” Ali breathed out a sigh of relief. “Do you know her phone number? Can you give us any contact information so that we can call her?”</p>
<p><em>Dang it, the questions are getting hard again.</em> The answer to this one was so close, it was on the tip of her tongue. <em>Would she like to call her mom?</em> <em>Yes, she would like to call her mom</em>. “Well, I can give you her phone number,” Christen said thoughtfully. “But you can’t get her for me because she’s not going to pick up…” <em>Oh, yeah! There was the answer. It was so easy all along.</em> Christen couldn’t help but laugh at herself. “Because she’s dead.”</p>
<p>Ali’s eyebrows shot up, Tobin’s eyes grew wide and sympathetic, and Kelley, shaking her head emphatically, backed all the way up against the far wall of the room.</p>
<p>“Oookay,” Ali said softly. Over her shoulder, to Tobin and Kelley, she added, “My bad, guys. I chose the wrong time to try this. I’ll pick this back up in the morning. You guys should head home, get some sleep.”</p>
<p>“You think she’ll be okay? She didn’t remember her last name!” Tobin said in a hushed voice.</p>
<p>“And she laughed when she talked about her mom dying! Like a crazy person!” Kelley exclaimed in a not-so-hushed voice.</p>
<p>“Hey! I’m not a crazy person!” Christen said indignantly. Then she recalled that other insulting thing that this woman had said earlier. “And, I don’t do drugs!”</p>
<p>“Christen, nobody thinks you do drugs. Kelley, apologize,” Ali said firmly, placing a comforting hand on Christen’s shoulder.</p>
<p>“Sorry,” Kelley muttered, eyes still round with a mixture of amusement and alarm.</p>
<p>“I accept your apology,” Christen said sweetly. She was already starting to forget what Kelley was apologizing for. <em>These ladies were so nice, weren’t they?</em></p>
<p>“I was hoping I could call someone for her so that they could be here when she wakes up, for real, tomorrow,” Ali said to Tobin and Kelley under her breath as she fiddled with Christen’s IV drip, adjusting the knobs. “But it looks like that’ll have to wait.”</p>
<p>“I can stay so I’m here when she wakes up,” Tobin offered eagerly. “She remembered me from earlier!”</p>
<p>Ali rested her hands on her hips and gave Tobin a long, concerned glance. “This is…unusual for you, Tobin. You can stay if you want, but don’t get too invested, okay?”</p>
<p>“I’m not too invested!” Tobin protested weakly. “You know me, I never get too invested.”</p>
<p>“Hm.” Ali raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Just remember: you’ve now met this girl twice. Once immediately after a car accident and once when she was high on painkillers. You don’t know anything about her actual personality, okay? She’s a stranger, and more importantly, she’s a patient.”</p>
<p>“I know!” Tobin retorted. “I’ll be fine, Al.”</p>
<p>“Fine. I’m trusting you on this one,” Ali responded skeptically. She glared over at Kelley. “And <em>you</em>—do <em>not</em> enable her.”</p>
<p>“I promise you, I will not,” Kelley responded with a shit-eating grin that promised exactly the opposite.</p>
<p>Christen was not listening. She had already snuggled back down onto the bed, into her pillows. As the meds began to make their way through her system, she was rapidly starting to get sleepy. But she thought she understood what the nice doctor had been trying to ask her now. And the little warning voice hadn’t piped up, so she thought this was probably safe to say. “Sorry I forgot my mom died, but I have someone you can call,” she said, her eyes fluttering shut.</p>
<p>“Okay, who can we call?” Ali turned back towards the bed, a little more hesitantly this time.</p>
<p>“I’m meeting my friend Pia Sundhage. P-I-A? S-U…umm…” Christen gave up on the spelling and soldiered on. “I’m trying to get to somewhere called Barberry Stone where she lives.” Christen muttered, her head drooping back on her pillow. And just like that, the meds took effect, and she was dead asleep—</p>
<p>Leaving the three women standing over her head, staring at each other in shock.</p>
<p>“Hot Mystery Girl was heading to Barberry Stone?” Kelley exploded, “To meet Pia? The plot thickens!”</p>
<p>“You can stop calling her Hot Mystery Girl; we know her name now, it’s ‘Kristen.’” Tobin said. “But Ali…” she turned to the doctor. “How are we going to tell her what happened to Pia?”</p>
<hr/>
<p>The next time Christen came to, the room was bright.</p>
<p>Her eyes snapped open in a sudden, almost violent, motion. Her mind was filled with wisps of scenes from a long dream she’d been having: a dream of dark roads, dark forests, a bright, evil sun beating down overhead, swirling together with glimpses of a jungle, stained dirt roads, the patter of children’s feet far in the distance. But memories of the dream quickly dispersed as she took in the unfamiliar scene around her: a small, empty hospital room, with calm rays of afternoon sun filtering in through the half-raised blinds.</p>
<p><em>Shit</em>, Christen realized. <em>I was in a car accident, wasn’t I? </em></p>
<p>The first thing that hit her was gratitude. She was alive. Somehow, she’d made it into this hospital. But the second thing, immediately on the heels of the first, drowning out everything else, was the pain. God, the pain. A dull, stiff, overwhelming ache seemed to radiate from her left ribcage all the way up and down that side of the body. Her head was pounding with a massive headache, and a high-pitched, tinny whine filled her ears. Glancing down, Christen realized that her left foot was in a cast and she had a sling around her left shoulder.  </p>
<p>And then she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Good god, she’d never looked worse in her life. An enormous bandage was wrapped around her head, her lip was distinctly swollen on the right side and peppered with stitches, and dark purplish bags under her eyes made it look like someone had punched her repeatedly in the face.  Raising her right hand to her face, she felt first the bandage stretching across her temple, then brushed her fingertips against the stitches on her upper lip. She groaned and looked away. <em>Still, you’re definitely lucky. You could be dead. Really, you should be dead</em>. Christen shuddered as memories of that moment on the road flooded over her: the tip over the edge, the car flipping side over side, crashing through the forest.</p>
<p>The next thing she noticed was the time. The clock on the wall said it was four in the afternoon. From where she lay on the bed, Christen could just see a hint of a scene outside: waving green treetops, the roofs and chimneys of nearby houses, and the faint laughter of children playing in the street. Christen clenched her eyes shut, trying to retrace what had happened to her. Had she been out this whole time? Had she been awake? If she’d been awake, what had she said? And to who? She felt a deep, unsettling dread begin to course through her. <em>My god, have I been talking to anybody? I could’ve said literally anything. Did I ruin everything before I even got started?</em></p>
<p>Christen’s eyes flickered around the room, looking for any more hints of what had happened. Her eyes landed on the binder that was clipped up by her bedside. She squinted up at it and realized that somebody had written across the top of the paper taped to the binder cover, “<em>KRISTEN ???</em>”</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh, god, that’s not good. If they know that, I must’ve said something at some point. </em>
</p>
<p>There wasn’t much else in the room, except for…</p>
<p>Christen’s heart skipped several beats as a visceral fear started pounding through her body. There, tucked under the armchair in the corner of the room, was her purse. And the top of the purse, she could see from across the room, had been unzipped while she was sleeping.</p>
<p><em>Shit. SHIT</em>.</p>
<p>She had to check the bag, to see what was missing, but when she sat up in bed, the incapacitating pain rocketed through her body, leaving her crouched down, groaning. Plus, she was strapped into what looked like a dozen different tubes and wires. There was no way she was getting to that purse without someone else in the room to help her. And by that point, depending on who it was in the room, it could be too late already. <em>Shit, shit, shit</em>.</p>
<p>Christen could feel herself starting to unravel, so she quickly closed her eyes and took a few deep, grounding breaths. <em>Everything’s fine. You’re alive. You’re lucky to be alive. Time to plan out next steps. “A Press always has a Plan B,” right?</em></p>
<p>She cracked her eyes open and stared with renewed suspicion around the hospital room.</p>
<p><em>Step One is figuring out how much people know. On the bright side, I must not have interacted with anyone other than doctors and nurses, since I don’t know anyone here. On the other hand</em>, Christen’s mind whirred with the possibilities, <em>if I told them my name and they put it in some sort of database where it could be found, there could be other people here by now. But it looks like they don’t know my last name? How much could anyone really figure out with just a first name, misspelled? But somebody went through my stuff? Is it possible that people already know I’m here? </em></p>
<p>
  <em>Step Two, if I can make it unscathed past the hurdles of Step One, is finding Pia. Pia will know what to do. She always does. But how far do I want to drag her into my mess? </em>
</p>
<p><em>Step Three is…</em>Christen’s head started swimming as she ran down a mental checklist of everything that had gone wrong. <em>How am I going to get to where I’m living? How far am I from Barberry Stone right now? How am I going to stay under the radar in a new town now that I’m a walking mummy? How am I supposed to coach soccer? How’s my car? Where’s my phone? Oh my god, what about insurance?</em></p>
<p><em>Don’t panicI</em> she reminded herself, pulling herself back from the edge again, right before she started spiraling. Normally, Christen needed to have every last detail in order, to have an answer for everything. But in situations like this? She knew she’d just drive herself insane.</p>
<p><em>Keep your guard up. Ask the right questions. Find out who went through your bag. Get to Pia ASAP. The rest will fall into place</em>.</p>
<p>Just as Christen was looking around the room, trying to figure out how to buzz for a nurse or a doctor, the door swung open and a woman peeked in. When she saw that Christen was sitting up in bed, looking around, her face lit up with the brightest smile Christen had ever seen. “Hey! You’re up!” She exclaimed in surprise.</p>
<p>“Uh…yes.” Christen responded a little hesitantly, taking stock of the new entrant with a furrowed brow. She was wearing a blue rain jacket, zipped up to her neck, and baggy jeans, with scuffed, well-worn Timberlands on her feet. Her brown hair was pulled up into a haphazard messy bun. <em>Definitely not a doctor or nurse. What’s she doing in my room? </em></p>
<p>“Well, I’m stoked to see you’re up; this is great.” the woman paused near the bed, grinning and looking a little shy, rubbing the back of her neck with one hand. “How did you sleep? Are you feeling a little less loopy?”</p>
<p><em>Loopy? That’s kind of a rude thing to say</em>, Christen thought indignantly. <em>No Press has, ever in their life, been described as “loopy.”</em> The woman was standing so close, Christen couldn’t help but notice the grass stains on her jeans and the faint but unmistakable scent of body odor, like she hadn’t showered or changed her clothes in a couple of days. Christen leaned suspiciously away from her.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” she replied, a little stiffly. With every word, she felt a painful tugging at the stitches on her lip. “Do I – sorry, I don’t believe we’ve met.”</p>
<p>The shy grin slid off the stranger’s face.</p>
<p>For a long moment, the two of them were frozen, staring at each other. Christen studied the obvious chagrin that colored the other woman’s face and frowned, her thoughts whirring at a hundred miles an hour as all the pieces clicked into place. <em>I don’t know who she is, but she clearly knows who I am. She said I was loopy last time we talked, so I must’ve said some crazy things at some point between the accident and now, and she must’ve been present for it. Which means that there were other people around, not just doctors and nurses. Which means…</em> She glanced around nervously, noting that hers was the only hospital bed in the room.</p>
<p>
  <em>She must not be here for anyone else…which means she must be here for me.</em>
</p>
<p>Christen’s blood ran cold.</p>
<p>Her head was swimming, and she felt it her headache was rapidly elevating.<em> If she went through my purse and found what she was looking for, she must know everything. Is she here to bring me back to LA? </em></p>
<p>The woman was already slowly backing away from Christen’s bed. She was saying, “Um…no. You don’t know me. I guess I don’t really know you either? But…” She scuffed her shoes against the tile floor, determinedly not making eye contact with Christen. </p>
<p>“So…” Christen interrupted sharply, “if we don’t know each other, then why are you in my room? Why are you talking to me like you know something about me?”</p>
<p>Normally, she’d be more polite, charming. She had the gift. As her dad used to boast at his corporate parties, “Christen’s charm could sell a painting to a blind man.” And even when she didn’t need to turn on the charm offensive, her mother’s etiquette lessons were indelibly drilled into her brain: Christen was constantly, unfailingly, neurotically well-mannered.  But this was totally different. This was fight or flight. The woman hadn’t answered her question yet, and the way she was staring at Christen with a panicky look on her face, it was obvious that she was trying to make up an answer on the spot. <em>Highly, highly suspicious</em>.</p>
<p>Without bothering to let this woman finish imagining up a lie to tell, Christen decided to just cut to the chase. “Did you go through my purse?”</p>
<p>“No!” The woman exclaimed immediately, although between her guilty jump and the way her eyes immediately flickered towards Christen’s purse in the corner, Christen already knew the real answer. “I mean, yes, sort of. I mean, we were trying to figure out last night who you were, so I just took a look to see if you had an ID or anything so we could call someone—” The woman suddenly cut off; now it was her turn to look offended. “Wait, what the fuck is even happening here? I didn’t steal anything out of your purse, if that’s what you’re saying!”</p>
<p><em>Seems pretty legitimate</em>, Christen had to admit as she parsed the woman’s excuses and indignant manner in her head, <em>but I know how good people can be at lying</em>.</p>
<p>As if sensing Christen’s skepticism, the woman marched over to the corner, snatched the purse up from the ground, and carried it over to the bed. “Here, take a look, see for yourself.” She dropped the purse on the bed next to Christen and crossed her arms.</p>
<p>Glaring suspiciously over at the woman out of the corner of her eye, Christen reached her right hand into the purse. She pretended to be looking around at the miscellaneous contents, but her fingers immediately sank down to the bottom-most corner and felt around for a hidden zippered pocket. She traced the outline of an external hard drive there.</p>
<p><em>It’s here</em>, she realized in relief. <em>It’s still here. Okay, maybe this woman’s not here to get me after all</em>. <em>If she was a professional, she would've found it. And if she'd found it, I’d be a goner by now. Maybe she’s just</em>…Christen realized that there still wasn’t a good answer for this. <em>Maybe she’s really just some random local woman who’s hanging out here in my room? But that doesn’t make any sense either…</em></p>
<p>She looked up at the woman, who was now rolling her eyes at the relief that must have been evident on Christen’s face. “So, convinced I’m not a thief now?” she asked sarcastically.</p>
<p>“I never said you were,” Christen snapped defensively, even though she knew that she’d basically outright implied it. “Anyway,” she added, “You still haven’t even told me who you are and why you’re in my room. Do you even work here at the hospital?”</p>
<p>She didn’t mean for her tone to come out judgmental, but her eyes must’ve inadvertently wandered down to take in the woman’s disheveled appearance, because the woman’s face colored defensively and she shot daggers at Christen. And Christen did feel an undercurrent of guilt at her own aggression. <em>But I deserve to know!</em> She thought defensively. <em>I deserve to know what this stranger is doing in my hospital room, and if I’m in danger or not.</em></p>
<p>“You know what?” the woman muttered. “Forget it. I’m out of here.”</p>
<p>“<em>Forget it?</em>” In an instant, Christen felt her boardroom, power-suit persona take control over her body. She sat upright and continued in a frigid tone, “Excuse me. <em>I’m</em> the one who’s asking <em>you</em> a question here. So <em>you</em> don’t get to dictate when this conversation is over. Let’s try this one more time: Who. Are. You?”</p>
<p>For a long, silent moment, the two women glared at each other, at an impasse. Christen could see the other woman eyeing the door, as if she was considering just storming out instead of responding—and it's not like Christen could've stopped her. But then, finally, the other woman seemed to cave. She still had her arms crossed angrily, but her shoulders slumped a little, and she turned to face Christen fully. “My name is Tobin,” she said stiffly. “And I’m a paramedic.”</p>
<p>“Okay…” Christen said slowly, the pieces slowing coming together in her head. <em>So she’s tangentially affiliated with the hospital, and she was randomly in my room because…</em></p>
<p><em>Shit</em>.</p>
<p>“Oh,” Christen exclaimed. She immediately hoped her voice didn’t sound as guilty as she felt. “So I guess you were, um…” <em>How does one even go about asking something like this?</em> “Did you, uh, were you the one who saved me?” she asked.</p>
<p>Obviously, her hope that she was maintaining her poker face was a bust. The power dynamic in the room had clearly just shifted dramatically. Tobin raised her eyebrow at Christen’s words, edging closer to the bed. “Would you have been more polite just now if I did?”</p>
<p>Christen couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “I’m just saying, next time, before you go around rudely calling strangers ‘loopy’, you should at least make sure you know each other’s names.”</p>
<p>Tobin’s smirk widened. “Are you saying you wanted to know my name? You could’ve just asked.”</p>
<p>Christen felt herself blushing and didn’t respond, just stared down at her hands, flustered. Was <em>that</em> what this was?</p>
<p>Christen thought she could usually tell when someone was trying to hit on her…but that couldn’t be what was happening here. It was impossible: first, she’d just spent the first few minutes of their acquaintance accusing this woman of being a thief. Then she’d implied that she looked like too much of a mess to be a medical professional. And finally, she’d snapped at her like a CEO abusing an intern. Christen knew she was probably a little out of it from the pain and the medications and the shock of waking up alone in a hospital, but even in this state, she recognized that she’d just been incredibly impolite.</p>
<p>Also, she’d seen herself in the mirror: she knew she looked like right now. <em>Even normally, I know I’m not much to look at, and right now…I look like the actual Bride of Frankenstein</em>.</p>
<p>
  <em>So, no: there is no way that this (rude and awkward, but admittedly, pretty hot) paramedic is hitting on me, the insulting, paranoid mummy in the hospital bed. </em>
</p>
<p>As Christen's uncomfortable silence dragged on for several long, terrible beats, Tobin's face fell, almost imperceptibly. She glanced away and cleared her throat. “Sorry. Anyway...” she muttered, any hint of flirtation gone, the awkwardness between them back with a vengeance, “Let's get this over with. You know my name, and I know yours.”</p>
<p>Christen jolted upright, alarmed. <em>Is this the part where she corners me with the truth? Has she known all along? </em></p>
<p>Tobin was looking down, reaching into the pocket of the rain jacket. She pulled out a folded notecard, which she held out to Christen. “This is you, right?”</p>
<p>Wordlessly, Christen reached up and took the notecard from Tobin’s hand. Scrawled on the card, in Pia’s familiar handwriting, were the words:</p>
<p>
  <em>Kristen Channing</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>(Intro to Spanish, Honors Spanish I, Honors Spanish II, AP Spanish, Varsity Women’s Soccer Coach)</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>23 Aster Street</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Barberry Stone, Oregon 97358</em>
</p>
<p>“That’s you, right?” Tobin asked hesitantly, her bright hazel eyes soft and curious. “Kristen Channing?”</p>
<p>Christen clutched the card tight.</p>
<p>“Yes,” she responded with a bright smile, relief radiating in waves through her body. “Kristen Channing. That’s me.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Christen was still clutching Pia’s notecard in her hand, wondering how this woman had gotten ahold of it, when the door swung open.</p><p>Christen felt her whole body tense up—but it was just a doctor. A lady she didn’t recognize, wearing a pristine white coat, peeked into the room. “Hello!” She greeted Christen, stepping all the way in and gently shutting the door behind her. “I’m glad to see you’re awake.”</p><p>Christen felt a palpable sense of relief. The doctor’s smile and demeanor were soothing and polite. Here, at last, was a medical professional. (Not that a paramedic wasn’t a medical professional, but Christen couldn’t deny that it felt pretty soothing to see someone in a white coat with a stethoscope, instead of ripped jeans and work boots.)</p><p>“My name is Ali Krieger, and I’m your doctor,” Ali continued. She glanced down and noticed the notecard in Christen’s hand, then looked over at Tobin, who was still standing awkwardly beside the bed. “And…I see that Tobin here has been catching you up. Have the two of you been properly introduced? Have you already walked through everything that’s happened?” The doctor asked as she glanced at the monitor beside Christen’s bed and marked off some notes in the binder.</p><p>“Definitely not,” Christen responded, eyes wide. <em>Geez, “everything that’s happened”? What’s “happened”?! How did they get this card with Pia’s handwriting and my name on it?</em></p><p>“Uh, no,” Tobin answered hastily, as Ali’s gaze grew more and more disapproving. “Sorry, I kind of jumped into—we haven’t really—I mean, I haven’t really explained—“</p><p>“Tobes, come <em>on</em>,” Ali exclaimed, rolling her eyes. “Seriously!?”  </p><p><em>Well, at least they definitely know each other</em>. Christen felt even more reassured, her eyes flickering between the two women. <em>They seem pretty close. That’s even more proof that this paramedic isn’t up to anything underhanded. Maybe she really is actually just a super awkward local weirdo.</em></p><p>Ali gave Tobin a stern <em>we’ll-talk-later</em> sort of expression, and Tobin slunk off to sit in the armchair in the corner. Turning back to Christen, Ali said in a soothing, professional, diplomatic voice that Christen found incredibly comforting, “I know you must have a lot of questions, and we’ll do our best to answer everything we can for you.”</p><p>
  <em>Now, this is how I would’ve preferred to have my first post-accident interaction. </em>
</p><p>“Let’s start from the beginning, and I’ll take your vitals while we talk.” Ali suggested, perching on the edge of the bed. “Your name is Christen, right?”</p><p>“Yes, this is me…” Christen looked down at the card. “…Kristen Channing.”</p><p>“Christen, can you tell me everything you remember from the past few days? Since the accident?” Ali asked, gesturing for Christen to hold her wrist out to take her heart rate.</p><p>Christen furrowed her brow, trying to think through her pounding headache. “Well…” she tried to recall. “Um, it was Saturday morning. I was driving down the road. I think it was called Valley View? I was the only car on the road for a long time. And then…there was a tractor trailer.” In her mind’s eye, Christen saw the huge white truck bearing down on her, remembered the sickening feeling of realizing that she was tipping off the edge of the road. “And then…and then…”</p><p>Ali placed a comforting hand on Christen’s arm. “It’s okay, take your time,” she said softly. “I know it can be so difficult to force yourself to relive those memories. Just take it slow.”</p><p>Christen shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. <em>There was the road. I remember seeing the valley; it was so beautiful. Then there was the truck, and then I tipped off the road, and then…the dark branches? The windshield cracking? And then…</em></p><p><em>Nothing</em>. She couldn’t seem to remember a thing, just darkness, and then the bright afternoon light of the hospital room she’d just awoken to. (She noticed that Tobin was sitting straight up in the armchair, staring with a strange, particular intensity across the room at a random empty spot on the wall. <em>Weird</em>.)</p><p>“I can’t remember,” Christen said, shaking her head, looking a little frantically up at Ali. “I just remember the road, and then somewhere dark, I think maybe the forest where I crashed, but then nothing else until I woke up just now, ten minutes ago. But something must have happened in the interim, right? I mean…” Christen glanced back over at Tobin, who was now slumped way down in the armchair, a strange, forlorn expression on her face. <em>Again, weird</em>. “I mean, I just met Tobin just now for the first time when she came in, but I think from the way she was talking that she knows more about me than I remember…how do we know each other? Have I been awake at all? How did I get to the hospital? How did she have this card with my friend Pia’s handwriting on it?”</p><p>This time, the glare Ali shot at Tobin (who was now basically cowering in shame in the armchair) was much more pointed. “I’ll fill you in on everything, don’t worry,” Ali said. “For starters, you got very lucky after the crash, and we were able to bring you into the hospital right away.”</p><p>“Oh, incredible. Did the truck driver call someone?” Christen asked. “Or did someone see me fall from the road?”</p><p>Inexplicably, Ali almost seemed to turn towards Tobin, as if waiting for the paramedic to answer the question.</p><p><em>Was it her?</em> Christen wondered, as she had earlier, a wave of guilt washing through her body as she recalled how rudely she’d treated Tobin. <em>Did she find me and bring me in? Is that why the doctor is asking her? </em></p><p>“Uh…” Tobin twitched upright, startled as if she were a student who’d just been caught sleeping in class. She brought her hand up to rub at the back of her neck again. “One of the paramedics, Kyle Krieger, was in charge of the ambulance that came out to get you. Uh, somebody must have seen the accident and called in. I…I don’t know who. I wasn’t actually on duty on Saturday.” Tobin said, shrugging, still not quite making eye contact with either Christen or Ali. “Kyle is, uh, Ali’s brother, actually.”</p><p><em>Oh, of course, Ali must have been deferring to Tobin because she’s a paramedic as well, so she must’ve known what happened through work.</em> “Well,” Christen turned towards Ali with a wide, grateful smile. “Sounds like I owe your family big time.”</p><p>“Of course not, we’re just doing our jobs,” Ali responded with a smile in return and a comforting squeeze of Christen’s hand.</p><p>But as Ali turned to grab a blood pressure cuff of a nearby tray, Christen noticed a kind of funny, annoyed look on Ali’s face.</p><p><em>Uh oh, what’s wrong?</em> “Are, um…” Christen said hesitantly. “Are the injuries really bad?”</p><p>“Oh, no, not at all!” Ali’s face brightened immediately, adjusting the cuff around Christen’s arm and starting to pump it full of air. “Again, you were very fortunate in that regard. I know you might not feel all that lucky, because I’m sure it’s not quite comfortable right now, but basically…” she gestured down at Christen’s bandaged-up body. “What you see is what you’ve got. You had a few lacerations on your head, including on your temple and lip, and a concussion. Those will heal with just a little bit of time.  You also broke your left collarbone and fractured your ankle…those will take a bit longer to heal. I expect you’ll have the cast and sling on for a month or so at least. And then you’ve got some pretty serious bruising around your ribs, but nothing broken.” Ali gave Christen a comforting smile. “I’ll send you home tomorrow with some prescription pain medication, and you’ll need to come back in a week or two to get your stitches out and let me take a look at your shoulder and ankle. It could have been much worse, you know, if you hadn’t been brought in right away.”</p><p><em>All things considered, not too bad, </em>Christen mused as Ali expertly took the reading off of the cuff and slid it off Christen’s arm, exchanging it for a thermometer that she held up to Christen’s forehead for a reading. <em>I really owe this Kyle guy</em>. <em>He might’ve saved my life</em>.</p><p>“And then about last night,” Ali continued. “Nothing to worry about!” she added, seeing the slightly panicky look on Christen’s face. “You were awake for just a few minutes, and Tobin and our friend Kelley happened to be in the room when it happened…” she trailed off again, letting Tobin fill in the story.</p><p>“Uh, yeah, we’re really good friends with Ali and…happened to be in the hospital for something else, so Kelley offered to watch you for a little while…and I just came with her,” Tobin said with a shrug.</p><p>
  <em>Aha, so I guess that’s why she acted overly friendly when she saw me. She thought I remembered talking to her and her friend last night.</em>
</p><p>“…yep.” Ali said, popping the ‘p’ on the end loudly. “And while you were awake you told us just a couple of things. You said that your name was Christen, and that you were heading to Barberry Stone to see Pia Sundhage—”</p><p>“Yes, that’s right,” Christen confirmed, internally giddy. <em>Thank the LORD for my drugged-up self, sticking to her story. </em>“Did you already get in contact with her; is that how you got this card? How close are we to Barberry Stone?”</p><p>Ali lowered the thermometer and placed a warm hand over Christen’s, her eyes soft and comforting. “Well, I’ve got the feeling you haven’t heard the news yet, Christen…” Ali began hesitantly.</p><p>
  <em>Oh, no. This can’t be good.</em>
</p><p>“We do know Pia Sundhage. But Pia…she had a stroke just a few days ago.”</p><p>“What?” Christen gasped. <em>Pia?</em> “Pia…no!” She exclaimed. “She’s not even…she’s so young. She’s too young to…” Christen clutched helplessly at Ali’s hand.</p><p>In her mind, she suddenly recalled the last time she’d seen Pia: both of them all dressed up in graduation regalia, Pia smiling sadly as she handed Christen a Stanford business school diploma, right before Christen swept across the stage to the podium to make her valedictorian speech.</p><p>They hadn’t talked to each other once in the four years since then, and that had been Christen’s fault. And yet, as soon as Christen had reached out to Pia for an enormous favor a few months ago, Pia had jumped in to help without asking a single question. The last time they’d spoken on the phone was just a week ago. Pia had given Christen her address in Barberry Stone. <em>Come see me first thing, and we’ll get you all settled in</em>, she’d said.</p><p>“Is she…” she couldn’t even bring herself to finish the question.</p><p>“No, don’t worry, she’s alive, though she’s currently in a medically-induced coma.” Ali reassured Christen, reaching for a nearby tissue box and wordlessly handing Christen a few tissues as tears began to roll down her cheeks. “I can see that you’re close with her—I’m so sorry to have to be the one to let you know this. If you want, we can definitely arrange for someone to drive you to see her soon.”</p><p>“Is she in Barberry Stone? How far are we from there?” Christen asked, wiping her eyes, glancing from Ali to Tobin. Ali’s eyes were tearing up as well, and Tobin looked absolutely miserable: altogether too distraught to just be in sad in sympathy with Christen. “Do you…do you guys know Pia?” Christen added hesitantly.  </p><p>“We do know her,” Ali confirmed, “Tobin knows her better than I do, but we all know her. Pia’s well-loved here in Barberry Stone.”</p><p>“Here?” Christen echoed faintly, looking from Ali to Tobin. “<em>Here</em> in Barberry Stone?”</p><p>Both women were nodding at her. Tobin gave her a crooked little smile. “Yep. Welcome home, Christen.”</p><p><em>Whoa</em>. Christen lay back on her pillows, a little lost for words.</p><p><em>Okay, on the one hand, this is a good thing</em>, she thought. <em>I’m around people who know Pia, who care about her.</em> <em>That’s the most important thing.</em> <em>And the logistics of getting where I need to go are infinitely simpler now. On the other hand…what a terrible first impression to make in town. I’m permanently going to be Car Crash Girl. And…</em>Christen couldn’t help glancing towards Tobin. <em>Now I’ll have to live with this super awkward first interaction with this paramedic. I’ll always be the crazy lady who yelled at her for no reason and accused her of stealing stuff out of my purse. Hopefully we’ll just never run into each other again. This town can’t be THAT small, right? </em></p><p>Christen’s mind was racing so fast, she hadn’t noticed that Ali had brought out, from a drawer, a neat manila envelope filled with papers. “After we figured out your name and that you knew Pia, it was a piece of cake to put some more pieces together.” Ali said. “Our friend Kelley is actually a teacher at the high school as well, and she remembered that Pia had mentioned a new Spanish teacher moving into town before the start of the schoolyear. I hope you don’t mind, but Tobin and Kelley did some sleuthing this morning and figured out some logistics for you—“</p><p>At that moment, Ali’s pager went off, and she glanced down at it with an annoyed expression. “Dang it, I’ve got to run. To wrap up here, Christen, your vitals look great. Still, I’d like to keep you here one more night just as a precaution. I’ll be back to check on you later, and again tomorrow morning to walk you through your prescriptions.”</p><p>“Sounds good,” Christen responded, relieved that she wasn’t expected to vacate the hospital that day. Honestly, with the way every part of her body hurt, she wasn’t sure how she was going to make it out of the building along, much less figure out the logistics involved in moving into a new house.</p><p>“Perfect.” Ali gave Christen a wide smile and a final pat on the hand. “I’d like you to get a little more rest, so I’m going to send the nurse in to adjust your meds. Tobin, can I talk to you outside for just a second?” she added, pulling the door open. Christen watched as Tobin, without a goodbye, without even making eye contact with Christen, awkwardly shuffled through the door after Ali.</p><p><em>What a strange woman</em>, Christen shook her head. She could hear muffled voices right outside the door, and it sounded like Ali and Tobin were arguing over something. <em>Ali’s probably yelling at her for mishandling that introduction</em>.  </p><p>The door swung slightly open again, and Christen looked up to see a young nurse come in. “Hi, I’m Sofia! Dr. Krieger sent me in to adjust your medications a bit,” the nurse said sweetly, her fingers deftly pecking away at a monitor near the bedside. “You probably want to get a little more rest, and I know you’re probably in a bit of discomfort right now, right?”</p><p>“Uh, yeah, thanks,” Christen responded distractedly, trying and failing to hear what Ali and Tobin were arguing about. It seemed like they’d moved a little further down the hallway, so it was hard to pick anything out over Sofia’s voice.</p><p>“You’re all set; this will help you get to sleep in about ten minutes,” Sofia announced, turning back to Christen with a smile. “I’ll be back to check on you a little later, all right?”</p><p>As the door slowly crept shut behind the nurse, Christen listened again for the voices outside. It seemed like Ali and Tobin had been joined by a third person, and she thought she heard someone—was that Tobin?—protesting, “You were right, I didn’t know her at all, okay? Just leave it…” But then the door clicked shut, and the voices went muffled again.</p><p><em>I was right—Ali must have reminded her not to act like she already knew me, and Tobin must’ve panicked when she saw me awake all of a sudden, and forgotten and assumed that I’d just remember her</em>, Christen surmised. <em>Well, she’s right that we should just leave it. That was enough awkwardness to last a lifetime</em>.</p><p>Christen wondered if she should try to sleep right away: but the nurse had said the medications would take ten minutes to kick in, so instead, she reached for the manila envelope. Right there on the front, in Pia’s neat handwriting again, was the name Kristen Channing. Opening the envelope, she saw a black-and-white print out of a Google Maps image, with one house circled in red pen. Christen matched it with the address written on the notecard: <em>23 Aster Street, Barberry Stone, Oregon 97358</em>. There were a few red arrows drawn to various locations on the map. Pia had some handwritten notes by some of the arrows, like, “Just a 20 minute walk to the high school! I know how you like your daily exercise!” and “15 minute walk to my house if you cut through the Ertz’s back yard.”</p><p>Shuffling through some more papers, Christen saw Barberry Stone High School class rosters and a list of varsity soccer player names. These papers were all carefully annotated too: some of the names were circled, with little notes like “A delight!” written by Pia in the margins.</p><p>Christen didn’t realize she was crying until she suddenly realized she was having a hard time reading the names. Setting the papers down on her lap, she reached for the tissue box that Ali had graciously left on the bed for her. Even reading these notes in Pia’s handwriting made her feel like the older woman was right there, guiding her through. <em>Oh, how I wish she was actually here</em>, Christen thought wistfully, remembering the long, heartfelt discussions that they’d had so many years ago in Pia’s office at Stanford. Pia had spent hours giving her much-needed guidance about how to start her life after college. Christen had been counting on that guidance again, as she was re-starting her life all over again.</p><p><em>But now I’m all alone</em>.</p><p>The door creaked open again, interrupting Christen’s teary reverie. She was surprised to see that it was Tobin, returning to the room. In the split second as Tobin was entering, they made eye contact, and Christen was surprised to see a strange expression (could it be described as sympathetic? Caring?) on Tobin’s face as the other woman realized she’d been crying: Christen startled, quickly dashing away the tears on her face with the sleeve of her hospital gown. As Tobin opened her mouth to say something, though, another woman entered right on Tobin’s heels, short and freckled and wearing an enormous grin on her face.</p><p>“Christen, right?” The other woman cut in, before Tobin or Christen had a chance to speak. Christen nodded, blinking away the last hint of tears, and actually a little relieved: it would just be way too awkward to be alone in the room with Tobin again. “Hi, I’m Kelley! Kelley O’Hara.”</p><p>“Hi, Kelley,” Christen replied. <em>So, this must be my new coworker.</em> “I’m…Kristen Channing. I…uh, I heard from Dr. Krieger that I met you last night. Sorry I don’t remember.” <em>God, I’ve never been more awkward in my life. </em></p><p>“Oh no, totally fine! Honestly, you didn’t miss much. Sounds like Ali filled you in on everything,” Kelley pulled up the rolling chair and plopped down into it. Tobin lingered awkwardly close to the door, back to avoiding direct eye contact with Christen.</p><p>Kelley had a gregarious, inviting way about her that—now that Christen was certain of her physical safety—she found comforting. “Thanks for staying with me last night,” she said hesitantly. “Tobin mentioned that the two of you were here doing Ali a favor. That seems…awfully generous of you.” <em>Honestly, still a little weird, but whatever. I didn’t realize that patients needed someone to be in the room with them at all times, but maybe it’s because of the head injury?</em></p><p>Seeming to sense Christen’s skepticism, Kelley waved her hand dismissively in the air. “Barberry Stone is a tiny town; everyone’s doing each other random favors all the time, you’ll get used to it! Speaking of which, I see you’ve been looking in the folder! We did some digging around after I remembered who you probably were. Pia told me last month that there might be a new Spanish teacher at the high school, if we got lucky. I teach math there, so we’ll probably see each other around all the time this year! And I think you’re coaching soccer too, right? I can’t wait to see you all play, the girls on that team are so great, you’re going to love them. So anyway, this morning Tobes and I went over to the Ertz’s house; they’re Pia’s neighbors, and Julie said that Pia’s been talking non-stop about you getting here this weekend. We looked around Pia’s house and found this folder, and Julie also found your house key–“</p><p>“Sorry, what? Who?” Christen cut in as soon as she was able to get a word in edgewise. She was not quite following Kelley’s telling of the story. “How did you get into Pia’s house?”</p><p>“Oh, Julie just has her key,” Kelley said, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. “To like, water her plants and stuff, and for emergencies. Everyone has everyone’s keys, it’s whatever. Anyway, we found the folder right on top of her desk and it had these papers and your house key inside and this address, which must be the rental that Pia arranged for you. Tobes and I will be back tomorrow morning to take you there and get you settled in.”</p><p>Christen was about to say something generic and polite, like “Oh, you don’t have to,” but then caught herself. Who was she kidding? As much as it pained her to admit that she needed help from anyone, for anything…of course she needed someone to bring her to her house. She’d be a fool to say no. “Well, thanks, I really appreciate it,” she said instead, a little shyly. “And everything else you’ve done, including staying with me last night. It sounds like a lot of work. That’s really nice of you guys. I swear to god, I’ll find some way to pay you back.”</p><p>“Oh, no worries!” Kelley said breezily. “Just hang out with us! We’d really like to get to know you better, wouldn’t we, Tobin?”</p><p><em>Hmm, you’ve hit on the one thing I can’t do</em>, Christen thought wryly. <em>Friendship is not a thing that is happening</em>.</p><p>Luckily, Tobin seemed to be on the same page as Christen, because she just shrugged and looked out the window, not saying anything.</p><p>“Tobin, a woman of few words,” Kelley smirked, bulldozing with impressive nonchalance right through the awkwardness of the moment. She glanced back to Christen only to see her eyes drooping a little, the meds starting to kick in. “Oh dang, you probably want to sleep, don’t you? I guess we should leave you alone. We’ll be back tomorrow!”</p><p>Kelley was already moving towards the door like a whirlwind, waving enthusiastically at Christen, who couldn’t help but grin sleepily back. Kelley’s personality was definitively infectious. But she was looking forward to having them out of the room; sleepiness was starting to crash like waves against her, and all she wanted to do was cuddle up against her pillows and conk out.</p><p>The door was already starting to slowly creak shut behind Kelley when Tobin, hesitantly, approached the bed. “I, uh, I can take those for you and put them on the table, if you want, so you can sleep more comfortably,” she offered, gesturing towards the tissues and the folder.</p><p>“Um, thanks.” Christen was a little caught off guard by Tobin’s sudden consideration, after she’d just stood in total silence in the room for the last five minutes. “That would be nice, thanks.”</p><p>Tobin gathered the items in her hands, then paused again. “Your car is, uh, at the local auto shop, but it’s not looking good,” she added in a soft voice, still not looking at Christen, just scuffing one boot absentmindedly on the linoleum floor. “And your phone is getting fixed, too. Kelley and I will bring it with us tomorrow morning if it’s done by then. And I heard Ali saying that Pia put you on the school payroll last week, so your insurance should have kicked in by now. It’s the same plan as all the other teachers, so the hospital’s used to processing it; I think they’ve got it all taken care of already.”</p><p>“Wow, thanks,” Christen said in amazement as Tobin ticked off the list. How had she even known that these were the things Christen had been most worried about? Christen felt her shoulders relax, as if a huge weight had been lifted – but that was just the meds kicking in, probably. She snuggled down into her pillows and muttered drowsily, “I really appreciate the update. And, uh, all this. You guys are being so nice, honestly, I can’t believe it.”</p><p>Tobin still wasn’t making eye contact, but Christen was gratified to see a slow smile spread across her face. “Well,” Tobin shrugged, grinning at the floor, “no worries. Like Kel said, this is how we do things in Barberry Stone. It’s not a big deal.”</p><p>“It’s a really big deal,” Christen contradicted. “It’s a huge deal to me.”</p><p>Tobin glanced up, finally, and their eyes met again.</p><p><em>Was that a rising blush on Tobin’s cheeks? </em>No, it couldn’t be. <em>Impossible</em>.</p><p><em>Apologize for earlier!</em> Christen’s conscience chided her. <em>Do it now!</em></p><p>“Uh, and about earlier, I’m—I’m sorry—” Christen started to say softly. But she was just a beat too late. Tobin was already turning away in a weird hurry, slamming the tissue box and folder on a nearby table and barely waving to Christen before she swung open the door to follow Kelley out of the room.</p><p><em>Ugh, she didn't hear me.</em> Finally succumbing to the sleepiness, Christen let her head loll back on the pillows. <em>Seriously, what an odd person. I guess she got a little nicer there towards the end. Maybe being around Kelley being so nice reminded her to also be nice, </em>Christen guessed.<em> Good thing I’ll be seeing her tomorrow—I’ll have to find some other time to apologize…</em></p><p>Christen snuggled into the softness of the blankets and the world around her faded out. Even as the door was still slowly drifting shut, she was already fast asleep.</p><p>“Tobin Heath, you fucking dummy,” Kelley’s voice drifted into the room. “She's <em>moving here</em>. Are we just going to lie about this for the literal rest of our lives?”</p><p>“You should’ve been there—when she woke up—I was a train wreck, I totally fucked up, she doesn’t want anything to do with me. I didn't want her to feel like she owes me or that she's like, forced to be nice to me—you know? I don’t know! I already told you and Ali, she was so mean, and I just panicked—”</p><p>“You're overthinking, you little love-struck idiot, and this isn't going to work. Whatever. Can you please go home and shower now? How many days have you been awake for her? You’re like, falling asleep as we’re walking. Also, I want my jacket back. You better wash it first—”</p><p>“I'm not overthinking! It'll work. I'll talk to Kyle about covering for me; it'll be fine."</p><p>"Whatever you say. The things I do for you, Tobes…”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Christen awoke the next morning to another splitting headache, something she was now getting used to. She caught a glance of her gaunt, bruised face in the mirror and groaned aloud involuntarily: <em>fucking hideous</em>. But she tried to count her blessings: her ribs and collarbone didn’t hurt that badly, it was a nice sunny day out, and finally, she was heading home: out of the hospital and into some privacy, without the curious stares of prying eyes all around her.</p><p>Around 10 AM, Kelley’s freckled face popped into the room. “Hiya, Christen!” Kelley said cheerfully, “all ready to go? I’m going to deal with all your sign-out stuff, and then we can head out. Tobin’s downstairs waiting.” Kelley dropped a plastic shopping bag on the rolling chair. “Here’s some clothes for you to get changed into. They had to toss the stuff you were wearing when you came in, you were all bloodied up.” Kelley shrugged. “Or, uh, so I hear, from Ali,” She added in a slightly higher-pitched tone.</p><p>“That’s fine,” Christen said gratefully. <em>Pity about those jeans, I liked them. Was anything in the pockets? I don’t think so.</em> “Thanks for bringing something else for me to wear.”</p><p>With another wave of her hand, Kelley disappeared, and Sofia, the nurse, came in to help Christen get dressed. Christen appreciated the cheerful prattle that Sofia had kept up over the last couple of days. “All this stuff from Kelley looks good,” Sofia remarked, checking the bag. “You’ll have to be careful with dressing for the next couple weeks, especially with the collarbone and the bone bruising around your ribs. Wear a lot of soft, stretchy clothing that’s easy to get around your arms without too much movement if you can – like this shirt.” Sofia pulled out a well-worn heather gray t-shirt from the bag and held it up. The shirt said on the front, <em>17<sup>th</sup> Annual Barberry Stone Labor Day Festival</em>, with a funky, abstract print of a pie underneath.</p><p>“You’re in luck, it’s a vintage find!” Sofia laughed. “This year’s going to be the 20<sup>th</sup>. Can’t believe it’s only a month out. The shirts get better and better every year; maybe you can start a collection like some of us have.”</p><p>Carefully, Sofia got Christen out of her hospital gown before easing the t-shirt over her neck. As the shirt came down over Christen’s face, she took a deep breath and froze. What was that faint smell? <em>It smells like pine trees, and</em>…as Sofia finished working the shirt over Christen’s arm sling and turned back to rummage in the bag for pants, Christen tried subtly to bring shoulder up to her nose<em>. Like…wind across an open lake</em>, Christen thought a little dreamily. <em>Or like…a Sunday afternoon nap. Where have I smelled this before?</em></p><p>“Everything okay?” Sofia asked, head cocked to the side curiously, holding a pair of black sweatpants.</p><p>“Oh, uh, yeah, fine,” Christen responded, a little embarrassed to have been caught. “The shirt, uh, smells good.”</p><p>“Oh, yeah, we get that a lot when people put on home clothes for the first time in a while,” Sofia laughed, easing the first leg of the sweatpants up over Christen’s cast. “Everything in the hospital is just so sterile, you know? It’s nice to remember what the outside smells like after being in here for too long.”</p><p><em>That must be it</em>, Christen agreed. She turned to give it one final whiff, but the scent was already dying out. Sofia finalized the dressing process by sticking an Adidas slide onto Christen’s good foot. “All set!” Sofia declared.</p><p>After Sofia left, Christen finally, for the first time in days, got a good look at herself in the mirror. The bandage around her head, along with the arm sling and ankle cast, definitely still made her look like a comic-book mummy. The stitches on her lip, radiating like an ugly little sun, didn’t help. And it still looked like she’d been punched in the face. Christen couldn’t remember the last time she’d left the house without her hair and makeup impeccably done. For that matter, she never wore sweats out of the house either.  <em>I guess this is as good as it’s gonna get for now</em>, she thought wearily. <em>The fewer people I can get introduced to today, the better. Maybe by the next time I leave my house, I’ll be able to look more presentable.</em></p><p>Ali came in after Sofia left. She gave Christen a rundown of all the meds she had to take, a stack of instructions on how to take care of the cast and bandages, and her phone number, then got Christen settled in a wheelchair with her purse and crutch and paper bag of medications on her lap. As Ali wheeled her through the hospital halls towards the entrance, Christen absentmindedly floated her hand across the bottom of her purse, reaching instinctively for the comforting outline of the hard drive and tracing her fingers around it.</p><p>“I’ve scheduled you for a touch-back a week from now, next Monday,” Ali instructed as she rolled Christen down the hall. “The timing will have to be a bit flexible because I’ll have to come get you. Just call me that morning, and I’ll let you know what time I’ll come pick you up from your place.”</p><p>“That’s so nice of you, you really don’t have to,” Christen protested automatically, even though she knew that actually, Ali <em>did</em> have to. How else was she going to get to the hospital? Then she remembered, “Also, do you know when I might get to go see Pia? I’d like to visit, even if she doesn’t know I’m there…”</p><p>“Absolutely.” Ali gave Christen’s shoulder a comforting squeeze. “Pia’s in a hospital in Salem, about forty minutes from here. There’s a regular stream of visitors to see her; I’ll make sure someone can bring you soon, okay?”</p><p>“Great,” Christen said. They were nearing the end of the hall, approaching the reception area—Christen could hear the buzzing of voices and movement. “Uh, is it okay if I ask you one more question?”</p><p>“Yes, of course,” Ali leaned over so that they were eye level. “You can ask me anything you want, Christen.”</p><p>“Is it bad that I can’t remember anything after the accident?” Christen wondered hesitantly. “I just—I wish I knew what happened between the crash and waking up in the hospital yesterday.”</p><p>Ali smiled sympathetically at Christen. “I know it’s a little frightening, but it’s actually a common side effect of a concussion to have some memory loss, including losing your memory of the event that caused the concussion. The medications you were on after the accident also contribute. But it is possible that these memories will come back over time, in the future.”</p><p><em>I don’t have time to wait until the future</em>, Christen lamented internally. <em>I just want to know if I said anything that would give me away.</em></p><p>But for Ali’s sake, she forced a smile to her lips and just nodded. “Well, I hope that will happen. I’d love to be able to recall. Do you think talking to your brother about how he saved me from the crash would help?”</p><p>Ali gave Christen a strange, knowing smile. “I can certainly arrange for you to meet up with Kyle if you want…but personally, I’m a proponent of just letting the memories come back naturally.”</p><p>As they rounded a corner into the reception area, Christen immediately spotted Kelley, leaning far over the receptionists’ desk to look at some papers. Tobin was nearby, sprawled in a chair with legs wide, on her phone.</p><p>“Hi!” Kelley squealed, pushing herself off the receptionist deck and bounding over. “Look at you, all dressed up and everywhere to go!”</p><p>“Yeah, thanks for the clothes, Kelley,” Christen said gratefully.</p><p>Kelley waved her off. “Tobin, doesn’t the shirt look great on her?”</p><p>Tobin looked up from her phone, gave a half-hearted little wave, and shrugged. Christen felt a strange sense of disappointment at the other girl’s indifference, after they had ended their terrible encounter yesterday on a friendlier note. But now here was Tobin, barely looking up from her phone to greet her. <em>Maybe she’s still mad? I never got a chance to apologize.</em></p><p>“Before you leave, what’s your number?” Ali asked Christen. “I’ll shoot you a text when I hear about someone heading over to see Pia.”</p><p>In a flash, Christen realized she didn’t have her new phone number memorized yet, which would probably seem a little sketchy. “Uh, I have your number, I’ll text you,” Christen covered smoothly, which didn’t seem to set off anyone’s alarm bells.</p><p>“You ready to go, champ?” Kelley grinned down at her. “Come on, let’s go check out your new place.”</p><p>With a wave goodbye to Ali, they took off for the car, Tobin silently pushing Christen’s wheelchair as Kelley skipped on ahead. It felt amazing to be out in the warm sunshine in the parking lot, a slight breeze whipping through Christen’s hair as they rolled slowly across the asphalt towards a nondescript silver sedan. “We’re going to borrow Ali’s car today. Tobin and I both drive trucks, so we would’ve had to get you up onto the seat somehow, and that would’ve been a nightmare,” Kelley laughed, tossing Christen’s purse, crutch, and meds in the backseat and then returning to assist Christen into the car, as Tobin headed off to return the wheelchair to the front desk. With some maneuvering, Kelley got Christen seated in the passenger seat and then ran around to the driver’s seat, while Tobin jogged back to the car and launched herself into the back without a word.</p><p>It was just a short drive through the cute little town, but Christen couldn’t get enough of it, leaning her head out the window to take in the sights. She didn’t see a single chain store or restaurant; each little storefront they passed seemed to radiate with its own unique charm. Not a single building seemed to be higher than two stories. It certainly wasn’t like how she’d imagined seeing everything for the first time that calm morning she was driving in herself – which seemed like forever ago – but honestly, it was actually really nice to have Kelley prattling on beside her and pointing out different spots on Main Street.</p><p>“There’s the church! And then we have a bunch of antique stores, all along this row. Oh, look, there’s Moe’s Grocer; that’s where we get all our basic groceries and stuff. We have to drive into Salem if we want to get anything special,” Kelley gestured towards a homey-looking log building with people drinking coffee on its a wide wrap-around porch.</p><p>“And beside it is Morgan &amp; Sons, they do a little bit of everything, they’re the local lawyers and real estate agents and developers…I think the house that Pia arranged for you to rent is one of their properties, actually…” Christen peered at the white-columned building with the slick navy-and-gold “Morgan &amp; Sons” sign as they zoomed past. <em>So those are my landlords, huh?</em> <em>Fancy</em>.</p><p>In just a few minutes, they had turned onto a quiet, wide, tree-lined street. The houses that dotted the sides of the road weren’t huge and fancy, but they all had a certain magic. Flowers bloomed in front of almost every little house, huge trees stretched their leafy shade far overhead, and there were children playing in the yards and on the street. More than once, Kelley had to slow to a crawl and beep her horn at them to get out of the way. At one point, she yelled out her open window at a group of little boys playing hockey, “Hey, Cassius, stay out of the road or I’m going to eat your roller skates for dinner!”</p><p>“Wow, Miss Kelley, that’s mean!” the little boy shouted after the car. In the rearview mirror, Christen noticed that Tobin was grinning at the exchange, craning her neck to wave out the window at the boy. It was the first emotion she’d shown all morning. She still hadn’t said a word.</p><p><em>Why is she even here?</em> Christen wondered, studying Tobin’s face as the woman turned back to look at her phone. <em>This doesn’t seem like it needs to be a two-person job—honestly, the fewer people who know I’m here, the better. </em></p><p>“Here we are!” Kelley announced, pulling into a driveway and running over the curb in the process. Christen winced in pain as they all jounced around in their seats. She wasn’t sure that Kelley noticed, but when she looked up, she caught Tobin staring at her in the mirror.</p><p>But then Kelley was already putting the car in park and dashing out—<em>did this girl ever slow down?</em>—and Christen was distracted, gaping in wonder out the window at her new house. It was a tiny white brick house with green shutters, ivy climbing up the sides, standing in the shade of several towering trees around it. A wooden picket fence surrounded the house, and a little red-brick path (currently a little overgrown with grass) led from the driveway up to the front steps, where a blonde-haired, blue-eyed beauty queen of a girl was sitting in a patch of bright morning sunlight. <em>Oookay</em>. <em>Make that a three-person job, I guess</em>.</p><p>“Hey, I beat you here!” The girl called, bouncing down the brick path towards them as Kelley got the door open for Christen. “You must be Christen! I’m Julie Ertz, Pia’s neighbor. I just came by to hand over the key and everything.”</p><p>“Hi,” Christen said shyly, feeling deep in her bones just how much of a disgusting mess she was, in front of this dazzling creature. <em>Please, no more human interaction. Like, in general, but also at this very moment</em>.</p><p>“All right, up we get!” Kelley said cheerfully, surprising Christen as she swooped in under her arm and began to basically carry her across the yard to the door. Tobin was already halfway across the yard to the house with the bag of meds tucked under her arm and one of Christen’s two suitcases in tow. <em>Where did that come from? They must’ve gotten it out of my car and into theirs at some point.</em></p><p>“Sorry you had such a tough time getting into town! But I’m glad to hear from Kelley and Tobin that the injuries weren’t life-threatening. Thank God, right?” Julie offered Christen a warm smile. “Anything I can grab?”</p><p>“There’s one more suitcase in the trunk,” Kelley said as she and Christen hobbled slowly together down the path towards the front door. Tobin had already disappeared through the door with the first suitcase, and Julie nodded and headed towards the trunk to get the second.</p><p>“Looks super cute! And it’s great that that Pia had the foresight to get something all furnished; looks like there’s a bunch of kitchen stuff already too. Are you going to be okay here for a second? I’m going to help Julie with the suitcase,” Kelley rambled, depositing Christen into the living room armchair closest to the door and shooting back outside. </p><p>It took a second for Christen’s eyes to adjust to the dimness of the house, but as they did, she loved what she was seeing. It was a neat little interior: a little sparse, but nice for a rental, with high ceilings and shiny wooden floors. A plain gray couch and armchair and a simple coffee table sat in the living room, and the large kitchen that opened up to the right looked newly remodeled. The best part of the house, though, was the fact that the entire back-facing wall was basically glass: there was an enormous set of sliding doors looking out on the backyard, with windows on either side of the doors, which flooded the entire little space with natural light. A narrow hallway branched out near the glass doors, which probably led to a bedroom and bathroom.</p><p><em>This is amazing. Perfect for a long, sleepy, sunny afternoons…or maybe a late night with a good book and a glass of wine.</em> Christen took a long, deep, relaxing breath, trying to push her rising headache aside. From the front yard, the noise of Kelley and Julie laughing and joking with each other drifted in through the propped-open door.</p><p><em>These people are way too nice</em>, the thought crossed Christen’s mind. <em>Nobody’s ever this nice without an agenda. </em>A nagging suspicion that they were somehow onto her crossed her mind, but she shoved it aside uneasily.</p><p>As if on cue, Tobin strolled out from the narrow back hallway, rubbing her arm as if it were a little sore. “Oh, uh…” Tobin seemed a little caught off guard to see that Christen was sitting alone in the room. “I was just putting your suitcase in the bedroom,” she explained awkwardly. “I don’t know if that’s where you want it, or…”</p><p>“Bedroom is great, thanks,” Christen responded, hating that she could tell that she was being just as awkward, which was highly unusual for her. She was just too tired, too stiff, to conjure up another small-talk sentence. <em>Be better, Chris!</em> She scolded herself. <em>Apologize to this poor woman!</em></p><p>But as she fiddled with her fingers and opened her mouth to say something, Kelley and Julie came bursting through the door, huffing as they carried the last suitcase between them. (She couldn’t help but notice that Tobin had managed to carry the first suitcase fine on her own.)</p><p>“Is this it? Two suitcases? Dang, Christen, you’re a light packer.” Kelley looked impressed as they deposited the suitcase just inside the front door.</p><p>“I think there was just some stuff in the backseat,” Julie called over her shoulder as she started rolling the suitcase down the hallway towards the bedroom. “A purse?”</p><p>“I’ll grab the purse,” Tobin offered, moving to head outside, when she suddenly stopped and glanced towards Christen. “I mean, uh, only if you want me to, Christen, or you could go out there with me…”</p><p>“No, you can go, that’s fine, thanks.” Christen muttered, hoping her blush wasn’t too noticeable – though it felt like her face was on fire.</p><p>As Tobin fled through the front door, Kelley plopped herself down on the couch next to Christen. “So, I hear you were a little hard on poor Tobin yesterday when you guys met,” Kelley winked at Christen.</p><p>Well, if Christen wasn’t blushing hard before, she certainly was now.</p><p>“I mean, it was all my fault,” Christen could hear herself tripping over her words<em>. Is this it? Is this where they turn on me and corner me and make me apologize for accusing one of their friends of being a thief?</em> “I had just woken up, and she didn’t say who she was, and I didn’t think she was a doctor so I didn’t know why she was in my room…”</p><p>Kelley laughed aloud, and Christen caught herself in surprise when she saw the good-natured grin on Kelley’s face. “Oh, don’t worry, honestly, it was definitely Tobin’s fault. Ali specifically warned us that you probably weren’t going to remember anything so we had to treat you like strangers, and then Tobin went and instantly blew it, of course.” Kelley said breezily. “But anyway, don’t even worry about it. Tobin doesn’t offend easy. She’s the chillest person in town. Everyone’s favorite person.” Kelley raised her eyebrows at Christen, as if trying to convey something to her.</p><p>But Christen just frowned. <em>Interesting</em>, <em>I don’t think chill is the word I would use to describe her. She’s so…stilted. So socially awkward. “Everyone’s favorite person?” That seems like a stretch. Maybe Kelley’s just biased because she’s good friends with her. </em></p><p>(Kelley didn’t miss the frown.)</p><p>“Everyone’s favorite person? Hey, you talking about me out there?” Julie joked, emerging from the hallway with a grin and flopping down onto the couch next to Kelley.</p><p>“Don’t kid yourself,” Kelley retorted with a grin.</p><p>“I know, I know, who am I to compete with Tobin Heath?” Julie joked, directing a bright smile at Christen. “Little miss popular over here. Everybody knows Tobin, everybody loves Tobin. It’s great that she was the first person you met in town, Christen.” Julie caught Kelley’s eye, and then quickly added, “Well, I guess Kyle Krieger was technically the first, uh, first person you met in town, but Tobin was the first one you actually remember, right? When you woke up yesterday?”</p><p>“Hm? Oh, yeah.” Christen responded distractedly. In her mind, she was still in the process of filing this shocking but useful tidbit about Tobin away: <em>Most popular girl in town, everybody knows her, everyone loves her. Excellent to know. Will definitely be avoiding her at all costs. Maybe it’s a blessing in disguise that she doesn’t like me at all. </em></p><p>The screen door slammed open, and Christen glanced over her shoulder, surprised to see that Tobin wasn’t walking in alone. Another girl was right on her heels, both of their arms full of brown paper bags.</p><p>
  <em>Okay…make it a FOUR-person job to move me in. What is going on?!</em>
</p><p>“Moe!” Kelley and Julie chorused together, immediately scrambling up and crowding around the door to help with the bags.</p><p>Amidst the racket, Tobin quietly placed Christen’s purse in her lap. “Thanks,” Christen said, but the other girl didn’t look down at her, just strolled slowly over to join Kelley and Julie in the kitchen. Christen immediately slid her hand into the purse to feel for the hard drive. <em>Excellent. Still there</em>.</p><p>In amazement, Christen looked on as the other girls loudly and cheerfully scrambled for the bags and began unloading them in the kitchen. “Hi, I’m Moe!” The newcomer finally disentangled herself from Kelley and Julie, and came towards Christen, crouching to stay at eye level with her. “Well, Morgan. Morgan Brian. You must be Christen, welcome to town.”</p><p>“Remember I pointed out Moe’s Grocer earlier in town? This is the famous Moe!” Kelley added. She and Julie were already pulling groceries from the bags out onto the table and counter and throwing stuff into the fridge, laughing and talking.</p><p>“Uh, hi, it’s so nice to meet you.” Christen offered. “What is all this?”</p><p>“Okay, well, first, I’m so sorry to crash your place, like, this seconds after you walked into it, without a warning.” Morgan said with an apologetic grin. “But I heard from Julie what happened, so I just brought a little house-warming gift for you, just some basic groceries,” Moe continued, gesturing towards the chaos in the kitchen. “I know getting around won’t be too easy for you for a little while, so hopefully this will help ease you in for the first couple weeks.”</p><p>Okay, this was the last straw. This town had to be fake. <em>First the dramatic car-crash save by this Kyle guy, and then Kelley and Tobin somehow getting all my stuff from the car and figuring out all of Pia’s plans for me with Julie, and Ali arranging rides to the hospital, and now the local general store owner is literally dropping off free food? </em>At any moment, someone was going to leap out from behind the couch, shout “PUNKED!”, and drag Christen kicking and screaming back to LA.</p><p>Christen actually froze in disbelief, waiting for the act to break. But it didn’t. Instead, the room went quiet, and suddenly all eyes were on her.</p><p>“Um…this is…this is just insanely nice of you,” Christen said cautiously, forcing a smile to her face. Another pause. <em>Is this seriously real?</em> “I…I feel like I’ve been saying this once every ten minutes, but I don’t know how I’m ever going to be able to pay you all back.”</p><p>
  <em>There, now they have an opening to make a demand. What do you guys want from me? Seriously, just tell me now. </em>
</p><p>But the girls just smiled, and then Kelley was flinging herself across the couch to sit next to Christen. “I’ve already told you, Christen,” Kelley said. “Don’t worry about anything! All we want in exchange is for you to hang out with us and be our friend once you get back on your feet. Any friend of Pia’s is a friend of ours.”</p><p>“Uh, absolutely, I’m definitely down for that,” Christen lied. Unexpectedly, the lie pained her more than she had anticipated, especially seeing the wide smiles on the other girls’ faces.</p><p><em>Get a grip, Christen! You knew what you were getting into when you moved here. And you’ve never needed friends. Why now?</em> She heard a familiar strict voice in her head. <em>Don’t be an idiot. End this.</em></p><p>So she cleared her throat, and straightened her back, and repeated her lie that she had to remind herself was just a lie. “Yeah, let’s absolutely hang out, as soon as I’m feeling better. But uh, I’m actually starting to get a little headache…I don’t feel great, and I’m probably just going to take some of the medicine from Dr. Krieger and pass out, if that’s okay…”</p><p>“Yeah, of course, we’ll get out of your way!” Julie said immediately.</p><p>In a flash, they were all crowding their way back out the door. Despite their protests, Christen’s etiquette training won out, and she rose haltingly to her feet to hobble the few feet to the door to see them off. Right as they were all crossing the threshold, Tobin—the last in line—turned towards Christen. “You sure you don’t need anything else?” she asked hesitantly, actually meeting Christen’s eyes for the first time that morning. “Are you going to be okay with the unpacking and everything? We could help you—”</p><p>“No!” Christen said immediately, hoping that she didn’t look too panicky. A glance at Tobin’s startled expression, though, indicated that she’d come off way too strong. “No, I don’t need any help unpacking,” she added in a gentler tone, but still firm, non-negotiable. “Thanks though!”</p><p>“Okay,” Tobin said a little uncertainly before trailing the others out the door. Christen closed it firmly behind her, maybe a little too hard.</p><p><em>I think that was fine. I wasn’t too suspicious and awkward, was I? </em>Christen replayed the events of the morning in her mind. She peeked out the window curtain at the way that Tobin followed the other girls down the front steps, dragging her feet a little. <em>Maybe I was a little aggressive just now with Tobin, but not like I had a choice—they definitely cannot help me unpack. Besides, she already thinks I’m a lunatic anyway. </em></p><p>Even with the door shut behind them, Christen could hear the girls’ boisterous chatter out in the yard continue for a few more minutes. Trying not to be too creepy, but curious about their dynamic, she tweaked the curtain of the front-facing window aside to catch a glimpse of their departure. Morgan was telling some story, eyes wide and arms gesturing wildly, and Julie and Kelley had their heads thrown back, laughing uproariously. Tobin was hanging casually from the open passenger-side door of Ali’s car, eyes sparkling, grinning easily and shaking her head at the girls’ antics. A couple minutes later, still laughing and talking, they all clambered into their respective cars and pulled off, leaving the street quiet and deserted.</p><p><em>I can see it</em>, the thought popped unprompted into Christen’s head as she stared absentmindedly out at the now-empty front yard. <em>When Tobin smiles like that, I can see why everyone might like her. </em>Already, even though she’d been a little overwhelmed when they’d all been inside, the living room seemed a little desolate. As if because her first impression of the room had been when it was full of life and sound, the current loneliness seemed even starker. <em>I bet everyone likes all of these girls. They seem so fun. And can you believe they actually want to be friends? With me? </em></p><p>For a wild moment, Christen imagined herself hanging out with the group of girls, laughing at one of Kelley’s jokes or grabbing coffee with Morgan. <em>What do friends even do together? </em>She wondered, her mind cycling through hazy scenes from movies and TV shows. <em>Play softball in the park? Get drinks at a bar? Sing karaoke? Go to potluck dinners?</em></p><p>And as she wondered, the warning voice in her head picked up again. <em>Look how pathetic you are: you literally don’t even understand the concept of friends.</em> <em>You wouldn’t be able to pull it off. Even if you wanted to. Which you don’t, remember? </em></p><p>With a long, resigned sigh, Christen sat back on the couch, taking in the scene around her. The sparse room, <em>lovely in its emptiness</em>, she told herself. She listened to the sound of the wind rustling through the trees around the house: <em>well, I’d never be able to really sit still, really enjoy that sound, with the mayhem of other people around</em>. Maybe she would garden a little.  She could pick the flowers she’d grown herself, and make delicious tea, and sit on this couch and read a book of poetry, and she’d be okay. All alone, just like this. <em>It’ll be great. It’ll be great by myself. I’m an introvert. It’s not like I get lonely. I’ll be fine. </em></p><p>For a long moment, Christen sat on the couch, getting drowsier and drowsier. <em>Maybe I’ll just nap right here. But no, I should take my meds now before I sleep,</em> Christen argued with herself. Groaning as she straightened herself up, she grabbed the crutch and purse and scanned the room. Where was that paper bag of medications that Ali had handed over to her earlier?</p><p>At a snail’s pace, a dull pain shooting through her ribs with every step, Christen dragged herself down the narrow hallway she hadn’t yet explored. She peered around the cute little bathroom, and then continued the final few feet to the bedroom door.</p><p>“Wow…” Christen breathed out as she tapped the door open wider with her good side. The room was nothing too special—a simple bed made up in a navy comforter, a desk next to the bed, a little dresser with a mirror on top across the room—but like the living room, the selling point was the row of windows looking out towards the backyard, bathing the entire space in a cozy golden light.</p><p>She plopped herself down on the low bed with a sigh of relief. Then—finally truly alone, for the first time in days—Christen reached into her purse and, unzipping the hidden pocket inside, retrieved a small, plain black hard drive.</p><p>She turned it over and over in her hands for a moment, watching the morning sun glint off the shiny edges, feeling the weight of it in her fingers.</p><p><em>I’ll find a permanent place to hide it tomorrow</em>, she decided, slipping it under her pillow for now. </p><p>And then some items placed neatly on the desk caught her eye. Leaning closer, she saw her meds laid out with a full glass of water beside them. And next to the meds was her phone. She picked it up: it was working perfectly and fully charged. A little yellow Post-It on the phone said, in messy all-caps handwriting, “<em>Welcome to Barberry Stone, Kristen</em>.”</p><p><em>Tobin carried my bag of medications in earlier, and she was the one telling me about my phone yesterday</em>, Christen realized, staring down at the considerate little set-up. <em>Interesting</em>. <em>Maybe she doesn’t dislike me as much as I thought. </em> </p><p>But the Post-It was right there, the one that said KRISTEN, like a blaring neon reminder of her secrets and her priorities. <em>Don’t even THINK about getting close with the most high-profile girl in town. What a blessing in disguise that you never got to make your apology to her—it’s for the best if she thinks you hate her.</em> <em>No friendships for you, “Kristen.” </em></p><p>To remind herself, Christen peeled off the Post-It and affixed it carefully to the corner of the desk, smoothing her fingers over it a few times to make sure it was stuck firm.</p><p>She took her meds, lay down on the bed, and before she could find the strength to wiggle her way under the covers, was out like a light.</p><hr/><p>It was nighttime by the time Christen woke up again. She felt pretty good, actually, better than she had in days. Maybe it was because she’d slept for ten hours straight – she swiped at her phone screen, which informed her that it was almost midnight. And it’d been a deep, dreamless sleep, which was unusual for her. <em>Probably because of the medications?</em></p><p>After feeling under her pillow to check that the hard drive was still there, she took her meds and then hoisted herself down the hallway and into the kitchen. With great difficulty (it took several minutes for her to figure out how to get a plate out of the cupboard), she made herself a PB&amp;J and sat down on the couch to enjoy it.</p><p><em>Seriously, thank god for Morgan</em>, she thought upon taking her first bite. <em>And honestly, all the rest of them too</em>. <em>Even if there’s still some kind of ulterior motive involved…I mean, better than starving</em>. And as much as Christen loathed the feeling of accepting charity, it wasn’t exactly like this was charity, right? It’s not like they thought she was poor. They just knew she was injured.</p><p><em>It’s different than charity</em>, she argued to herself, trying to get herself comfortable with the fact that she might be relying on these strangers for a few more weeks. <em>It’s just…neighborliness. Huge difference. Mom and Dad wouldn’t hate me for relying on some basic neighborliness</em>.</p><p>Since she was wide awake now anyway, Christen turned on all the lights in the house and got to work unpacking the tiny amount of possessions she’d brought. One suitcase was mostly clothing: she sat on her bedroom floor for two hours, slowly using one hand to maneuver necklines over hangers she’d found in the closet. She didn’t even have enough clothes to fill the dresser; she used three of the six drawers and left the others empty. She had a few books, which she stacked on top of the dresser. Her laptop went on the desk, and the few documents she had, including her new Oregon driver’s license, went in the desk drawer. She propped her yoga mat sadly in the corner of the living room – she probably wouldn’t be using it for the next couple of months, at least. And finally, there was a small wooden box filled with some of her mom’s old jewelry, which she couldn’t bear to leave behind: she tucked that into a dresser drawer among some sweaters.</p><p>Christen placed the hard drive into one of the grocery bags, wrapped in a couple t-shirts she wouldn’t miss, and hid the bag under a loose floorboard she’d found in the closet. In the same spot, she also stashed multiple stacks of bills, which she’d brought with her for emergencies.</p><p>As a final consecration of the space, she took out her mom’s old mala beads and hung them from a bedpost.</p><p>She took a final, limping turn around the bare little house with her few belongings sorted away. <em>Not too shabby</em>, she thought in satisfaction.</p><p>She sat back contentedly on the bed and checked the time on her phone: 6 AM.</p><p>She checked the news: nothing of import.</p><p>She slept from six until noon, got up, made herself another sandwich, checked the news. Then she sat down at her laptop and, despite her growing headache, began to write lesson plans for the semester. <em>A Press does not take breaks</em>. </p><p>And so the days spun out, slowly, one after another: make food, check news, nap on the couch, meditate, sneak a peek at the hard drive to make sure it was still there, lesson plan for hours. Sometimes she’d go out into the backyard, which was surrounded by a neat little fence and some towering oak trees, and just soak in the sunshine. She felt a little better each day, though a couple times a day she’d inevitably forget to move carefully and end up sideways, grasping her ribs, and wheezing in pain, and every afternoon, like clockwork, a headache would build until she went to sleep. But when she slept, at least she didn’t dream like she usually did. She probably had the medications to thank for that.</p><p>Most people might’ve gone a little stir-crazy that week without any social interaction, but Christen was more than fine. She’d been primed for it her whole life; honestly, she enjoyed the long silences. <em>Better to be alone and comfortable than surrounded by uncomfortable people, by people’s expectations or stares, by their jealous judgments or empty flattery or insidious intent. </em></p><p>Still, she did have a tiny bit of human interaction. On the first day, she’d texted Ali, but just to follow up on the promise of getting Ali her phone number so that she could be in the loop about trips to see Pia. She kept it short and sweet:</p><p>
  <strong>Kristen Channing, 6:04 PM</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Hi, Dr. Krieger? This is Kristen Channing. Just giving you my number as discussed. </em> </strong>
</p><p>And Ali had responded,</p><p>
  <strong>Ali Krieger, 6:18 PM</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Just call me Ali! Great to hear from you. See you on Monday for your appointment if not sooner!</em> </strong>
</p><p>But then, by Thursday, Christen had received a text from an unknown number:</p><p>
  <strong>541-555-0101, 11:30 AM</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Hi kristen, its Kelley! Got your # from Ali, hope that’s alright. Holler if you need anything! </em> </strong>
</p><p>Christen had deliberated for a while before sending Kelley back a “Thanks!!” with a thumbs up emoji and a hand-waving emoji. Kelley was going to be her co-worker in a few short weeks, she argued to herself. Even if they weren’t going to hang out as friends, they had to stay civil.</p><p>And then the next day, a yet another text from another unknown number:</p><p>
  <strong>541-902-2017, 2:19 PM</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Hi, Kristen? </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>it’s Tobin.</em> </strong>
</p><p>Christen had almost responded, had almost thanked Tobin for setting up her meds and leaving the phone. But then she backtracked. <em>Better to keep some distance. She’s not going to be my co-worker like Kelley is. If this ever comes up in conversation, I’ll just blame the concussion and say I was having a bad week.</em></p><p>She put her phone on mute and went back to lesson planning. A few hours later, as the sun was setting, she picked up the phone again with a strange hammering in her chest, wondering if Tobin had followed up again.</p><p>She hadn’t.</p><p>Christen attributed the sudden malaise she felt to too many hours staring at Spanish verb conjugations.</p><p>By Sunday night, things were looking up: she’d constructed rough lesson plans to last her through Thanksgiving break, and her injuries were feeling better than ever. She still had enough food from Moe to last maybe another week, at which point, she was hoping she’d be able to hobble her way to the grocery store herself to pick up necessities. She’d even looked up the number for, and called, the auto body shop in town. A woman named Ashlyn had answered the phone and sympathetically informed Christen that her car was a goner, but gave a fair offer for the salvageable bits of the wreck. Christen took it, grateful that she’d even gotten anything back.  She’d definitely need to get a new car eventually, but for the short term, it didn’t seem like she’d require one in Barberry Stone. Maybe she’d get a bike, a cute little cruiser to get herself around town after her ankle got better.</p><p>It was late on Sunday night when Christen got another text from Kelley.</p><p>
  <strong>Kelley O’Hara, 11:03 PM</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Hi kristen, ali asked if I could pick you up for your appt tomorrow because she’s got a busy schedule. Could you be ready at noon?</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Lmk if you need anything else</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>We can run errands after</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Can’t believe it’s already been a week I miss you already!</em> </strong>
</p><p>Christen couldn’t help but chuckle at the other girl’s enthusiasm.</p><p>
  <strong>Kristen Channing, 11:09 PM</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Noon is great! Thanks so much.</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>I can’t believe it’s already been a week, either</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Speaking of errands, do you think it would be possible for us to pick up some Spanish textbooks from the school? I need to round out my lesson plans with actual chapters and page numbers.</em> </strong>
</p><p>Kelley had texted back before Christen had put her phone down.</p><p>
  <strong>Kelley O’Hara, 11:10 PM</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Omg don’t even talk to me about lesson plans I swear</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Don’t tell me you’re already lesson planning. Still two weeks until school starts!</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>But fine, yes, we can definitely swing by the school and pick up some books!</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Kristen Channing, 11:11 PM</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Amazing, thanks! </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Also, I should probably just ask Ali about this, but do you know whether anyone is going to visit Pia soon? </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Feeling slightly more mobile now and would really like to see her. </em> </strong>
</p><p>This time, there was a lengthier pause after Christen’s text. She brushed her teeth and was easing herself into bed when her phone dinged again.</p><p>
  <strong>Kelley O’Hara, 11:27 PM</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>I’ll ask around! There must be someone going soon. </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>See you at noon tomorrow! </em> </strong>
</p><p>Christen rose the next morning with the urge to make herself look slightly more presentable for her first outing since she moved in. It was more of a challenge than she’d anticipated. Some things, like eyeliner, were possible one-handed. Other things, like straightening her hair, were definitely not. A week of attempting to shower with one half of her body fully outside the tub had been a bit of a failure, and she felt a little greasy, her hair a little more unkempt than usual. And she couldn’t even tie it up with only one arm, so she had to let it loose, cascading in a wave of curls down her back. She sighed at herself in the little bathroom mirror.</p><p><em>I will never, ever, ever take showers and ponytails for granted again after this</em>, Christen told herself for the thousandth time that week as she hobbled towards the kitchen. <em>At least I don’t need two hands to brush my teeth</em>.</p><p>She felt oddly nervous about going to the appointment, though she knew that was ridiculous. It’s not like you could pass or fail a check-up, right? <em>Leave it to me to try to make everything a winnable situation</em>, Christen admitted to herself.</p><p>Or maybe what was making her nervous was just the fact that she’d be out and about in town again, back in the swirl of everyday life, potentially having to be seen by people. That was definitely not something she was looking forward to.</p><p>Or maybe it was the fact that she’d have to make small talk with Kelley O’Hara for the whole ride to the hospital, however long the wait there was, and then all the way back. As she ate a late breakfast, she spent some time charting out a precise course of small talk in her mind. She could ask Kelley a bunch of questions about the school, the kids, the other teachers there. She could ask Kelley about something horrifically boring, like lesson planning, which would take up some of the time. She could ask about the different stores along Main Street. Luckily, Kelley seemed like she was a chatterbox, so Christen was optimistic that if she just fed Kelley the right questions, the conversation would move itself right along.</p><p>Five minutes before noon, Christen was already perched expectantly on the couch, waiting for Kelley to show up. But noon came and went, and it wasn’t until fifteen past (when Christen was already antsy, trying to decide whether to text Kelley for an ETA or text Ali notifying her she’d be late) when Christen heard the hum of her car engine in the driveway and then the tramp of footsteps coming up the walkway.</p><p>Christen tried to take deep breaths and remind herself that while she was relying on other people’s generosity, it wasn’t right to nitpick at their tardiness. Pasting on a bright smile, Christen crutched her way to the door and swung it open, ready to greet Kelley.</p><p>But it wasn’t Kelley.</p><p>It was Tobin, standing on the doorstep, alone.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Oh!” Christen exclaimed, freezing in surprise on the threshold and praying that her smile was staying intact. “Tobin. Hi.”</p><p>“Uh, hi, Christen,” Tobin responded, looking a little dazed, staring back at Christen with her mouth slightly open, her brown eyes round and startled.</p><p>The silence between them dragged on, which for some reason filled Christen with impatient annoyance. <em>Why does SHE look like a deer caught in the headlights? It’s not like she doesn’t know that I live here.</em> When it finally became obvious that Tobin wasn’t going to follow up with anything else, Christen cleared her throat. “So…where’s Kelley?”</p><p>“Oh—” Tobin seemed to snap out of whatever trance she was in. “Kelley had a…thing come up, and couldn’t make it. Sorry I’m late, she, uh, just told me. I came as soon as I could.”</p><p><em>Well, that explains the delay.</em> <em>I guess it’s not her fault, </em>Christen tried to reason with herself. But despite this logic, she still felt a lingering irritation that Tobin hadn’t been on time. She hated tardiness with a burning passion.</p><p>They made their way stiffly down the front steps and across the yard. Christen couldn’t help but notice that Tobin’s attitude couldn’t have been more different than Kelley’s. While Kelley had basically all but lifted Christen up and carried her across the yard last week, chattering all the way, Tobin just drifted by Christen’s side, barely grazing Christen’s arm with one outstretched hand as Christen maneuvered her own way over the brick path. When she snuck a glance at Tobin, she saw that Tobin was just staring distractedly out into the trees or across the street at the other houses.</p><p><em>Seriously, I don’t see this “popular girl” thing with Tobin at all, </em>Christen found herself wondering again. <em>Kelley is definitely much more of a people-person than Tobin is. Way nicer. Way more fun.</em> <em>Way, way less awkward.</em> Then it hit her: <em>dang it, there goes my small talk planning! What am I even going to talk to Tobin Heath about?! She never says anything! </em></p><p>Luckily, one silver lining of the long, silent walk was that it gave Christen some time to compose herself. <em>Okay, you can deal with this. It’s just to the hospital and back. Be polite but not friendly. You are the queen of small talk, you’ve forced yourself to get along with more difficult people than Tobin. </em> </p><p>But then, they got to the car. And all at once, Christen remembered Kelley’s off-hand comment last week: Kelley and Tobin both drove trucks.</p><p>And here in Christen’s driveway stood an enormous, beat-up, dark green Jeep Wrangler, the passenger seat so high off the ground that even in normal times, Christen might’ve had to use both hands to boost herself up. The problem seemed to strike Tobin at the exact same moment, as she cast a wide-eyed, panicky glance from the seat all the way down to Christen’s ankle cast.</p><p>“Uh, I guess I…” Christen began, at the same time that Tobin started saying, “Here, let me…”</p><p>They both cut themselves short, glancing uncomfortably around at anything but each other.</p><p>“Looks like I’ll need to give you a lift,” Tobin tried again, her voice a low, raspy croak. It was obvious that she was trying to sound casual as she opened the door, surveyed the distance between the ground and the passenger seat. But her neck was going red in the back, which gave her away. She turned back to Christen with a tiny, apologetic smile. “Here goes?”</p><p>Christen forced her mouth into a smile and nodded. “Here goes.” <em>This is the fucking worst.</em> <em>She’s so uncomfortable. What if she drops me?! God, that would be so embarrassing. I would just die.</em></p><p>“Here, put your right arm around my shoulders…” Tobin maneuvered over so she was on Christen’s good side. Christen obeyed, in a daze. She couldn’t help but notice how silky-soft Tobin’s hair was against her arm, how soft and warm her skin was. How perfectly her own arm seemed to slot in over Tobin’s shoulders. And then—<em>whoa</em>—with a fluid, graceful ease, Tobin swung Christen up into her arms, carrying her bridal style.</p><p>Christen couldn’t suppress a little gasp as she was lifted. Tobin was carrying her so casually, like she weighed absolutely nothing. Christen could feel the hard flex of the other girl’s biceps against her back, the heat off her skin as their torsos pressed together. And—this was a weird thing to come to mind, but—Tobin smelled…really good. Outdoorsy but sweet. Kind of familiar—but how would that be possible? They’d never been close to each other before. Christen’s mind raced as she tried to place the scent.</p><p>“Sorry, you good?” Tobin asked softly, a little worry in her tone as she paused to make sure Christen was okay.</p><p>“What?” Christen realized she’d just blanked out for a second. She turned towards Tobin and—<em>wow</em>, they were closer together than she realized. Their faces were just inches apart; Christen could see the freckles on the other girl’s skin, the little laugh lines around her eyes. She could feel the warmth of Tobin’s words brushing against her jaw. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” she breathed.</p><p>“Great,” Tobin said. Absolutely effortlessly, she lifted Christen up and into the Jeep, settling her down with incredible gentleness into the passenger seat. “Sorry,” Tobin laughed stiltedly, the blush now creeping from her neck up to her face. “We’ll have to work on that.”</p><p>“No, no, it was good, I’m fine,” Christen said weakly (<em>more than fine!!</em>, part of her brain was screaming). Tobin was gone in a flash, closing the door behind her and looping around the back of the truck to get into the driver’s side.</p><p>Whoa.</p><p>What was <em>that</em>?</p><p>Why was she breathing so heavy? Why did she feel a little light-headed? Maybe it was that shy little smile, or maybe those tanned arms, the way they flexed when they lifted her, or maybe that smell, that strangely familiar smell—</p><p><em>Stop</em>. Christen obstinately forced those thoughts of her head and raced through a mental agenda of denials:</p><p><em>What the hell is happening? You don’t like Tobin, remember? And she doesn’t like you. </em>(Nevermind that the current tension was created by her own actions last week, and perpetuated by her own refusal to apologize.)</p><p><em>You’re not attracted to her; it’s just that you haven’t been around another person in too long. </em>(But you didn’t react at all to Kelley being so close to you last week, did you?)</p><p><em>You have a head injury that’s causing you to act like a crazy person. </em>(But when does a minor head injury lead to intense attraction to another person?)</p><p>Chisten gritted her teeth and thought harder, desperately trying to explain away the feelings. <em>You’ve had a traumatic year, and an especially traumatic week, and you’re brain is making up chemistry with the nearest person as an escape, as a defense mechanism. You don’t really like her. And it wouldn’t be fair to HER for you to act like it, because you don’t really like her. </em>Her subconscious had a hard time coming up with a smart retort for that one. She finished by reminding herself, <em>You’re Christen Press. You’re not a horny middle school boy, you’re a professional, grown-ass woman</em>. <em>You’ve always been in control. You’ve never needed anyone. And you’re not going to start now.</em></p><p>Tobin threw open the driver’s side door and hopped in, and Christen forced herself to look straight forward, away from the other girl. Part of her couldn’t help but notice that Tobin had taken an unusually long time to circle the truck just now, but that, of course, couldn’t be attributed to any weird physical or emotional response she’d had to Christen. <em>She was probably just staring distractedly out into the trees, like she was when we were walking across the yard just now</em>, Christen argued to herself. <em>There is NO way she was somehow taking time to recover from tossing an invalid up into the passenger seat of her truck</em>.</p><p>She sat in silence as Tobin pulled out of the driveway and down the street, staring out the window at the trees and houses passing by, sipping in a slow, deep breath. She snuck another glance over at Tobin, who was nervously thrumming her fingers on the edge of the steering wheel, still not saying a word. The awkward silence was starting to eat away at Christen’s nerves.</p><p><em>Okay, back to the plan.</em> <em>Remember, polite but not friendly. Let’s get the small talk going. </em></p><p>“So Tobin, you’re a paramedic?”</p><p>The way Tobin seemed to flinch, and turn toward Christen with surprised, round eyes, made Christen actually stop and question her small talk skills. <em>That’s an innocuous question, right?! Occupations?</em> <em>Am I doing something very wrong here? </em></p><p>“Uh, yeah…?” Tobin responded, still staring over at her.</p><p>“So do you have Mondays off or something, like a flexible schedule? Because otherwise it would be the middle of your workday, right?” Christen tried to power through the talking points she had planned out in her head, even though Tobin was being so weird.</p><p>“Oh, yeah,” Tobin responded. She seemed a little caught off guard, almost relieved, as if that wasn’t the direction she’d expected Christen to go. “Yeah, pretty flexible.”</p><p>“Well, thanks for driving me, I appreciate it,” Christen said.</p><p>Tobin responded with a half-smile and a nervous shaka sign with her left hand, and then silence descended again.</p><p>Christen let herself stew in frustration for a moment at the failed small talk attempt. <em>Maybe it’s for the best</em>, she thought<em>. It’s a sign, a sign that whatever you were feeling just a few minutes ago, you were imagining it</em>. <em>We’ll sit in complete silence for this one errand, and then I can just continue avoiding her as planned</em>.</p><p>But no sooner had she resigned herself to the silence when she heard Tobin clear her throat. “I guess, uh,” Tobin said, casting a quick glance over at Christen before looking back to the road. “There’s something I wanted to tell you.”</p><p>“Yeah?” Confused, Christen turned more fully towards Tobin. She racked her brain about what Tobin could possibly sound so serious about. “Uh, is this about the cost of the phone repair?” she offered ashamedly. “I realized this week that I need to pay back whoever fixed it. I was going to ask you who did it.”</p><p>“Oh!” The bewildered look on Tobin’s face indicated that, no, that wasn’t what she was going to say.</p><p>“Oh, no, sorry, go ahead,” Christen said, right as Tobin said, “Yeah, uh, I could give you Becky’s number.” This time, Christen couldn’t help but chuckle a little, but Tobin looked too stressed to find their cross-talk funny. As they paused at a stop sign, Tobin bounced her leg up and down, flicked nervously at the keychain hanging from the ignition. <em>Dang, she’s super on edge. It must be something bad</em>.</p><p>“No, uh, I was just going to say…last week, there was something I forgot to—uh, that I didn’t tell you—I just…” Tobin started. Her normally low voice was getting a little higher-pitched with nervousness. She glanced towards Christen with one fleeting, pleading glance, then back towards the road. “I just…”</p><p>She paused again, and Christen fidgeted anxiously as they sat in silence, just idling at the stop sign. <em>Is she going to ask me to apologize for how rude I was? Maybe I should just apologize before she even has to ask—</em></p><p>A horn sounded, startling them both in their seats: out of nowhere, an impatient car had pulled up behind them. Shaking her head as if to clear it, Tobin quickly slammed on the gas and pulled out onto the main street, waving an apology at the other driver.</p><p>“I just wanted to say that I’m sorry,” Tobin blurted out in one quick breath, glancing over at Christen again, brown eyes wide and hesitant. “I talked more to Kelley and Ali this week, and, um, realized how uncomfortable I must have made you when I first entered the room after you woke up last week. You were just waking up after a really horrible accident, and I got overexcited, and…” Tobin shrugged, her shoulders slumping a little. “And you…had no idea who I was. So that must have been really frightening. And I shouldn’t have reacted so poorly to how you reacted to me, because you were in the right to be, you know, suspicious of me. So I’m sorry.”</p><p>Christen sat frozen. She could not believe her ears. Tobin was apologizing to <em>her</em>? After she’d been so rude to Tobin last week, after she’d clearly been in the wrong to accuse Tobin of stealing out of her purse?</p><p>She barely even processed that Tobin was pulling into the hospital parking lot and parking.</p><p>“Um, what?” she heard herself say in a faint voice.</p><p>Tobin cleared her throat. “What?” she echoed, sounding a little panicky. “Did you, uh…do I need to say all of that again?”</p><p>“No, no, I just…” Christen’s voice trailed off, confused. “You’re serious? You’re not joking?”</p><p>“Why would I be joking?” Tobin asked, puzzled.</p><p>
  <em>Because I can’t remember the last time I heard a sincere apology? </em>
</p><p>“It’s just not something I’m used to,” Christen said softly, shocked into a semblance of honesty. Before she could stop herself, she heard herself adding, “But actually…I’m the one who should apologize. I felt like I was really rude when we met. I wasn’t thinking straight, but that’s not really an excuse. I should’ve been better.”</p><p>As soon as Christen said it, she regretted it. This was all getting a little too honest, too real. There were real feelings involved. They were deviating too far from Christen’s small talk plans.</p><p>It was hard to really feel bad, though, as she watched a happy grin spread across Tobin’s face. “Really?” Tobin asked, her head tilted to the side, like a shy, eager puppy. “Because I’d really like to start over.”</p><p>“Yeah, I’d like that too,” Christen heard her voice responding without her again.</p><p>For a moment, they just sat there in the stillness of the car, eyes locked on each other. Tobin’s smile was huge and genuine, and her eyes were sparkling, and Christen felt herself smiling a little, shyly, in response.</p><p><em>THIS IS NOT IN THE PLAN</em>, her brain was shrieking.</p><p>But at the same time, she could feel her heartbeat racing with what felt like joy.</p><p>As Tobin hopped out of the truck, Christen quickly tried to mentally rework her plan to stay under the radar, to try to make this new development fit. <em>Well, maybe it’s best to stay polite</em>, she rationalized. <em>Maybe this is the better path, the more low-key decision. It would be more drama to be on bad terms with somebody who everyone else likes, so it’s better to smooth things out now, keep things civil. Right? </em></p><p>
  <em>As long as your priority remains staying unnoticed and not actually becoming friends.</em>
</p><p>She reminded herself of this priority sternly, almost frantically, as Tobin appeared at the passenger-side door and, just like before, gently lifted Christen down to the ground in her warm arms, and Christen felt fireworks going off inside her head. She reminded herself of this priority as they made their way slowly across the parking lot, Tobin now resting a hand carefully but firmly on Christen’s elbow as they walked, and Christen felt Tobin’s fingertips tingle against her skin. She reminded herself of this priority as they sat in the waiting room together, and Christen couldn’t help but notice that Tobin’s mood seemed to have immediately picked up: her shoulders seemed straighter across, there was a constant smile playing around the edge of her mouth, and her whiskey-brown eyes seemed to glitter. Now she seemed to be the charming girl that Kelley and Julie had described last week, the girl who everyone thought was…</p><p><em>“Irresistible”</em> was the first word that sprang to mind, but Christen shoved it far, far away into the recesses of her brain.</p><p><em>“Fine</em>,” Christen corrected herself, weaving her desired narrative in her mind. That’s the word. Tobin was fine. Nothing special.</p><p>Before she could admit to herself that maybe it was a lie, a nurse appeared at the door and called her in.</p><p>The check-up went great: apparently, everything was healing nicely. Ali deemed the head and lip injuries fine, Christen was relieved to get the head bandages and lip stitches removed at last. The collarbone and ankle would take a few more weeks. Ali offered to re-up Christen’s prescription pain medications, but Christen declined, because she’d been feeling way better. (She knew she’d miss the dreamless sleep she’d been getting so used to, though.)</p><p>“Sorry again I couldn’t give you a ride, my morning schedule just ended up getting so busy,” Ali apologized as they were wrapping up. “I’m glad Kelley was able to come, though.”</p><p>“Uh, it’s Tobin, actually,” Christen corrected her, trying to keep her expression nonchalant. “I guess Kelley couldn’t come at the last minute, so she asked Tobin.”</p><p>“Oh, she couldn’t?” Ali’s eyebrows rose. “…interesting.”</p><p>“But it’s okay, uh, we’re fine…” Christen offered. She figured that if she wanted everyone to know that there wasn’t any bad blood between her and Tobin, she might as well start now. “She told me that you and Kelley weren’t happy with her behavior last week, and so she just brought that up and we talked it through on the way here.”</p><p>“Oh, really?” Ali’s eyes lit up with surprise and satisfaction. “She told you? I really wasn’t sure she was going to ‘fess up, even though Kel and I have been bugging her about it all week.”</p><p>“Yeah, I was pleasantly surprised, but we’re all cleared up now. It was nice to hear it from her,” Christen said. She racked her brain to recall a couple other loose ends she wanted to clear up with Ali before leaving the appointment. “Oh yeah, Ali, would you mind giving me your brother’s address?”</p><p>Ali glanced over her shoulder at Christen as she put away her instruments, with an amused expression on her face. “Sure, but why would you want Kyle’s address?”</p><p>“Well, I don’t know if this would be too much, but I wanted to send him something to thank him for finding me and bringing me into the hospital last week,” Christen explained.</p><p>Ali’s brow furrowed. “Wait, what? I thought Tobin…” her voice trailed off.</p><p>For a long second, the two women stared at each other, confused.</p><p>“I thought…Tobin…might have…stopped by the fire station where the paramedics and EMTs work…” Ali seemed to be piecing together the sentence word by word. “…so you would have the address…”</p><p><em>That’s an odd assumption to make</em>, Christen thought, but shrugged it off. “No, we didn’t stop by the fire station on the way here,” she explained, wondering if she was making Ali uncomfortable by asking—for some reason, the doctor suddenly seemed bummed. “But if you don’t think it’s a good idea…or, if you don’t know the address I can find it myself…”</p><p>“No, it’s a great idea, and very sweet of you,” Ali responded quickly, “I’ll write down the address for you.”</p><p>“And one more question, if that’s okay…” Christen added. “Has there been any news about going to visit Pia?”</p><p>Now the expression on Ali’s face was clearly irritated. “Did Tobin not contact you? She brought some of Pia’s friends on Thursday, and I told her to ask you if you wanted to go!”</p><p><em>Oh, shit. The text from Tobin!</em> Christen could’ve kicked herself. Had she really passed up a visit to Pia, days ago, just because she’d been preoccupied with avoiding Tobin? “No, she texted,” she admitted. “I just didn’t realize it was about Pia…I must have forgotten to answer…”</p><p>Ali must’ve seen the frustrated expression on Christen’s face. “Well, you were having a really hard week, I’m sure, so don’t beat yourself up over it,” she said gently. “Tobin’s going again today, I think, so if you still want to go, why don’t you go with her?”</p><p>After Ali said farewell and moved onto her next patient, Christen wandered slowly down the hallway on her crutch, wondering how to spend the rest of the afternoon. She certainly didn’t want to pass up this chance to finally see Pia.  But she was hesitant about spending even more time with Tobin, just the two of them. Maybe she could wait until the next trip, when there were more people going.</p><p>She paused at the doorway leading from the hallway out into the bustling waiting room. Tobin was sitting where she’d left her, but now was surrounded by three or four other Barberry Stone residents, laughing and chatting. Christen studied the way Tobin’s tanned arms draped casually over the chair backs on either side of her, the way that she tipped her head back and laughed her deep, throaty laugh.</p><p>Attraction aside, there was something so striking about the other girl. She seemed…confident. Free. The way she leaned back sent her laughter up to the sky—there was something special there. Something that made Christen’s chest throb with an unnamable ache.</p><p>As she stood there, agonizing over whether to ask Tobin to just drop her off at home, Tobin glanced up and saw her standing at the doorway. From across the large room, her eyes seemed to light up, and Christen thought for one panicked second that she was going to gesture for her to join the larger group. She looked away quickly, as if she hadn’t just seen Tobin, and started crutching her way slowly across the waiting room towards the front doors.</p><p>Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Tobin excuse herself from the group. She jogged over to Christen, catching her halfway across the room. “Hey, how did the appointment go?” Tobin asked.</p><p>“Um, it went well,” Christen said softly, staring down at the floor and hoping they weren’t attracting too much attention. “Ali said my head looked good and I didn’t need the bandage anymore, and I also got my stitches out.” She tentatively touched her upper lip, feeling the slightly swollen area.</p><p>“It looks great!” Tobin raised her hand, almost like she was reaching to brush her fingers against the corner of Christen’s mouth too—then, catching herself midway, she dropped her hand to rest on Christen’s good shoulder instead. “Seriously, uh, it looks fantastic. Ready to head out?”</p><p>As they made their way towards the door with Tobin’s strong hands carefully supporting onto Christen’s arm and shoulder, Christen cast a few covert glances around the room. There was no way she was imagining this: there were definitely multiple people staring at them. Not just the people Tobin had been talking to earlier, but also other people scattered around the room. Keeping her eyes trained steadfastly on the shiny linoleum floors, Christen stiffened, trying to subtly lean away from Tobin. She breathed a secret sigh of relief as they crossed through the automatic doors.</p><p>She snuck a worried glance over her shoulder into the waiting room as they stepped out onto the sidewalk. Tobin followed her gaze back inside. “Did you forget something?” she asked worriedly. “I can run back in and get it for you.”</p><p>Christen thought about evading the question, but she had to admit, she was curious about whether she’d just been imagining the attention. She asked cautiously under her breath, “I just—did you think that people were…looking at us just now?”</p><p>Tobin chuckled a little, bringing her hand up to rub the back of her neck. She was embarrassed at the attention she was receiving as the popular girl in town, Christen could tell. But instead, Tobin just shrugged, meeting Christen’s eyes. “Don’t worry about them, it’s just because you’re new in town,” she reassured her. “We don’t get a lot of strangers around here. It’ll pass in a few days.”</p><p>As they headed across the parking lot to the car, Christen couldn’t help but feel a rush of disappointment. She knew Tobin had been politely deflecting the attention from herself by making that excuse about Christen being new, but she’d secretly been hoping that Tobin would deny that people had been staring at them.</p><p>If Tobin had denied it, then Christen might’ve been able to argue to herself that they could be friends and still stay try to stay out of the public eye. But even Tobin must have seen and noticed the stares—on their actual first time being seen in public together, no less. <em>This isn’t going to work</em>, Christen admitted despondently to herself.</p><p>So when they got back to the car, she tried her best to tune out as Tobin gently carried her up into the passenger seat again. She shoved aside the aching thought she wouldn’t mind staying in Tobin’s arms for a few more moments, and she kept her smile distant and polite as Tobin carefully buckled her in.</p><p>“Did you still want to go to the high school?” Tobin asked as they inched towards the parking lot entrance. “Kelley said you wanted to pick up some of your textbooks.”</p><p>Oh, yeah. Christen had forgotten that part of the day entirely. “Yeah, I do, that would be great,” she said. Lovely, a compromise gifted to her by the universe: she could enjoy just a tiny bit more time with Tobin, without having to commit to a 40-minute one-way drive to Salem.</p><p>They wound their way down Main Street, Christen once again staring out her window in curiosity. As they stopped at a stop sign in front of Moe’s Grocer, she started to worry a little, mentally calculating how much food she had left at home.</p><p>“Hey, did you want to stop by Moe’s?” Tobin asked. Christen jumped a little—how had Tobin been able to read her so clearly?</p><p>“No, I don’t have my credit card or anything on me,” Christen admitted.</p><p>“Probably for the best; you shouldn’t be doing too much walking up and down the aisles,” Tobin agreed, zipping past Moe’s and heading further down Main Street. “But hey, you can just let Moe know if you’re short, and she can drop more groceries off, or Kelley and I can bring some by.”</p><p>“No, no, that’s totally unnecessary,” Christen said firmly. She couldn’t accept another free grocery drop-off; it was way too mortifying. <em>I’ll buy my own groceries next time if it’s the last thing I do</em>.</p><p>Tobin cast a curious look over at Christen’s sudden rigid demeanor, but didn’t press the issue. </p><p>When they got to the high school, Tobin insisted that Christen stay on the car, that she could run in and pick up the textbooks alone. Christen happily agreed: what if there were people in the school who would see them together? As she waited, she contentedly surveyed the high school building in front of her. It was a cute, single-story brick building, with white shutters on the windows and flowering bushes lining the sidewalks.</p><p>The sound of nearby laughter and chatter caught her attention, and she glanced over to see fields to the right of the building. There, on the soccer field, was a group of girls looking like they were wrapping up a practice; cleaning up cones and balls from the pitch. Her future players, maybe? Christen leaned forward in excitement, squinting to try to see their faces, but they were too far away.</p><p><em>I wonder if I should head over, introduce myself?</em> She wondered. But then she flipped down the sun visor to check herself in the mirror, and she had her answer: definitely not. This could not be her first impression as a coach. She looked haggard, her hair a mess, her eyes a little sunken. She leaned in, tracing the outline of her lip with her finger again. It was still swollen. She wondered if it was going to scar.</p><p>The sound of the opening door distracted her from her litany of self-criticism. Tobin hopped back into the car, carrying a stack of four textbooks in her flexing, tan arms. “Ta-da!” She announced, laying them carefully under the console between them. “All set. I checked with the secretary, Dawn, to make sure these were the right books for the classes you’re teaching. I also had Dawn check the class rosters to make sure there were more books than students, so you could just keep these at your house permanently. I know it might be a pain to have to carry them back to the school anytime soon.”</p><p><em>She’s too nice</em>, Christen thought wistfully. <em>Maybe I should go see Pia with her. I really do want to see Pia. And</em> <em>I mean, we’re going to be in Salem. It’s not like we’ll be hanging out here in Barberry Stone, where people know Tobin</em>.</p><p>“It looks like the varsity soccer girls are hanging out over on the fields right now,” Tobin offered as she started the ignition. “Do you want to drive over, say hi? I could introduce you.”</p><p>For the second time in the span of several minutes, Christen was left wondering how Tobin had managed to read her thoughts so clearly. She considered it for a minute, but ultimately shook her head regretfully. “Not looking like this,” she muttered, reaching up to snap the sun visor shut, to get the mirror out of sight.</p><p>Tobin opened her mouth as if she was about to say something, but ended up deciding against it.</p><p>“So, home then?” she said. “You must be tired, and I don’t want you to miss taking your meds if you need them. Or do you need to do anything else?”</p><p>There it was: two easy outs. Great excuses to go home immediately. The right words were right on the tip of Christen’s tongue: <em>Yeah, thanks, I’m exhausted; I need to take my meds; I’ve taken up enough of your time today already</em>—</p><p>Then she looked over at Tobin, just as Tobin was casting a shy, almost hopeful glance towards Christen, and they made eye contact that seemed to fizz from Christen’s head right down to her stomach, and—</p><p>“Actually, I hear you’re going to see Pia in Salem today?”</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hiya, friends!</p><p>So this is my first fic ever! I undertook this baby writing excursion because I needed a creative outlet during these rough times. Also, as someone with anxiety, I found it cathartic to write about a character, Christen, who undergoes some of the same symptoms that I do. Of course, in this story, C is definitely dealing with a much darker backstory that anything I have experienced in my life! But it’s been nice to analyze these symptoms through the fictional lens of her troubles, and to think that in this little world, I can write a happy ending for her. I’m really glad that so many of you are enjoying it so far--I hope it's as fun for you to read as it is for me to write!</p><p>The same anxiety actually led me to make an early decision not to check any of the comments, ever. I was really afraid that reading negative comments would send me down a spiral. Thankfully, a friend convinced me to finally take a peek at them a couple days ago, and they are lovely! Thank you all so much! So I just wanted to pop in with a lil apology for not responding to them all sooner, and a promise that I will make a more concerted effort from here on!</p><p>I had the first few chapters pretty well mapped out when I first got going. I'm starting to hit the end of that map, and I wanted to give you all a heads up that since I'm an essential worker in my state, the pace may slow a little. But never fear, I know exactly where this is going, and I have the last few chapters written already, so it will happen eventually! Thanks for all the comments that have encouraged me to keep going :)</p><p>Hope you are all staying safe out there. </p><p>xo, casson</p><p>P.S. @whatname0523, if you are out there, I cannot believe you commented. Lonesome Dreams was the first TC fic I ever read, way back in 2017.  Congratulations for the big finish this week!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
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  <em>“Actually, I hear you’re going to see Pia in Salem today?” </em>
</p><p>The words were out before Christen could stop them, and Tobin’s whole face was lighting up and she was nodding excitedly and they were pulling out of the parking lot, and <em>oh god, it’s too late to go back now. Here goes nothing</em>.</p><p>“Yeah, I was going to go after dropping you off! Visiting hours end at 5 PM on Mondays, so if we head out right now, we could spend a couple hours there,” Tobin said. She added a little curiously, “I actually took a group on Thursday…did you happen to get a text from me? I was wondering if I’d gotten the number wrong.”</p><p>Christen fell back on her pre-planned excuse, although now that they were “friends,” it was way more difficult to lie to Tobin’s face than she had expected. “Oh, sorry, I must have missed it,” she said lamely. “I wasn’t feeling great this week…I was sleeping a lot…”</p><p>Tobin’s eyes rounded guiltily. “Oh, dang—no, sorry, I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad. I know the week must have been awful.”</p><p>Christen just shrugged, a little guilty for making Tobin feel guilty when in reality, it’d all been Christen’s fault.</p><p>“Speaking of which, things must be hard on your own—do you need any of us to drop by and take care of anything around the house for you?” Tobin asked hopefully. “Like, even just for a little company?”</p><p>“No, it’s fine.” Christen said quickly (maybe a little too quickly), “You guys don’t need to do anything for me. And I like being alone.”</p><p>Tobin looked a little crestfallen at Christen’s firm shut-down. As they coasted to a stop at a red light on a quiet residential street just in front of the school, Christen tried to think of how to change the subject, in case Tobin tried to bring up a visit again.</p><p>Then suddenly, there was a loud metallic clanging all around them, and the sound of shouts, and the truck was bouncing and swaying in place—</p><p>In a flash, Christen ducked beneath the windows, turning ghostly pale and clutching at the armrests. <em>Oh my god, it’s happening, they’re going to get me</em>—</p><p>“Little fuckers!” Christen heard Tobin exclaim under her breath. Still cowering in her seat, Christen turned in surprise to see Tobin grinning from ear to ear, looking into her rearview mirror, and rolling down her window. She stuck her torso out the window and shouted good-naturedly, “Sonny, Linds, how many times do I have to say this, <em>not while I’m driving</em>—”</p><p><em>It’s kids</em>, Christen realized, still trying to catch her breath. She tried to unfurl herself from her crouch, her ribs now aching violently in protest. <em>It’s just some kids</em>. She looked up into the rearview mirror to see that the bed of the truck was suddenly crawling with four or five teenage girls with duffel bags and soccer balls, laughing hysterically and bouncing around. <em>It’s just the girls from the field, it’s fine, you’re fine, you’re fine</em>—</p><p>“Sorry about them, it’s just—hey…” Tobin turned and startled with concern at the sight of Christen: pale and shaky, still shrunk into the seat, trembling arms clenched tight around her torso. “Are you okay? Did that hurt you?” There was real concern in Tobin’s face as she pivoted her entire body towards Christen, protectively skimming her fingers over the shoulder sling, over the wound on Christen’s temple.</p><p>“It’s fine,” Christen lied hastily, taking a few deep breaths, quickly dropping her hands and tucking them under her thighs so the trembling wasn’t so obvious. “Just, uh, just a little startled, sorry. You know, loud noises, in cars, not the best associations right now.”</p><p>Good thing she had the accident to fall back on as a convenient excuse.</p><p>(It’s not like <em>“I thought it was a carful of men with assault rifles, coming to abduct me”</em> would have gone over smoothly.)</p><p>“Give me a second to deal with them,” Tobin muttered, suddenly serious, over the continued laughing and chatter from the back of the truck. She pulled the truck slowly out of the traffic lane and coasting to a stop by grassy roadside. “Hey!” she hollered in a tone much harsher than a minute ago, hopping out of the truck onto the sidewalk. “You guys, get down here. <em>Now</em>.”</p><p>Christen closed her eyes and tried to steady her breathing as she heard the teens clamber out of the truck and huddle around Tobin on the sidewalk. <em>Christen, you have to get a grip. You can’t keep jumping at every loud noise. It’s extremely suspicious</em>.</p><p>With the truck door open, she could hear Tobin’s scolding loud and clear. “Listen, you know I love you guys, but how many times do I have to say this? Do <em>not</em> climb into the back of my truck when I’m on the road. It’s so fucking dangerous, and your parents would murder me if one of you got hurt.”</p><p>“The red light at Third and Oak Street goes for like two full minutes, everyone knows that, and there’s no one else on the road—” one girl protested weakly.</p><p>“Sonny, you’re not dumb, so don’t play dumb with me,” Tobin’s voice was stern, and the girls went silent. “I’m dead serious, do this one more time and I’ll stop giving you all rides anywhere, you got it?”</p><p>“Sorry, Tobin, we won’t do it again,” another girl said meekly, elbowing the first girl in the side.</p><p>“Yeah, we won’t, sorry,” the first girl (Sonny?) said softly.</p><p>Trying to inconspicuously peek at the gathering through the mirror without them noticing, Christen watched as the girls’ shoulders slumped guiltily. They did look truly sorry. And Tobin seemed to agree, because she caved a little, throwing her arm around the girl on her left and ruffling the hair of the girl to her right. “Thanks, Sulli, I appreciate it. And Sonny, I’m not mad. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad, okay? I just need you guys to be safer out there.”</p><p>“We will!” the girls chorused, visibly perking up as Tobin’s tune changed. Christen watched them all crowd closer around her, laughing and talking about some other topic. The girl named Sonny actually jumped onto Tobin’s back and clung there like a barnacle, joking around and making everyone laugh. It was kind of cute, actually. Tobin was like a mother duck with her little ducklings. <em>Yet another side to this mysterious girl</em>.</p><p>“All right, all right, I gotta go. Stay out of trouble, you hooligans.” Tobin said cheerfully after a few more minutes of chatter, shrugging Sonny off her back and jogging back to the car.</p><p>“Bye, Tobin!” the girls yelled as Tobin hopped into the driver’s seat.</p><p>Christen was so absorbed with sneaking glances at the carefree grin on Tobin’s face that she forgot to try to hide, and then she heard one of the girls exclaim, “Hey, Tobes, who’s your friend?!”</p><p>To Christen’s relief, in response, Tobin peeled away from the curb and flew down the street, leaving the girls in her wake.</p><p>“Uh, sorry about that, did you want me to introduce you?” Tobin asked awkwardly after it was obviously already too late, when they were several blocks away. “I know you said earlier that you didn’t—”</p><p>“It’s fine, Tobin, thanks,” Christen said smoothly, cutting off the other girl’s rambling. “You’re right, I don’t want to meet a ton of new people today, you know, looking like I do…”</p><p>Tobin snuck a glance at Christen out of the corner of her eye. “I mean, I didn’t mean to imply that you looked bad. I know you said that earlier, but I think you look great.”</p><p>“Uh, thanks,” Christen responded, flushing a little red. She always hated talking about her appearance. Especially because she knew Tobin was just trying to be polite.</p><p>“Hey,” Tobin added, glancing concernedly over at Christen again. “I just wanted to make sure. Back there—are you okay? Do you want to stop somewhere for a while? The whole ‘being in a car’ thing—I’m so inconsiderate, I didn’t even think of it—”</p><p>“I’m fine. I’m totally fine,” Christen said in the most authoritative tone she could muster. Tobin still looked mistrustful, her mouth pinched with worry. Christen wondered if she still looked pale and jumpy. She quickly brainstormed to see how she could change the conversation topic as quickly as possible. “So, tell me about those girls. How do you know them? What are they like?”</p><p><em>Jackpot</em>. Tobin’s face lit up, and she started discussing each of the five girls they’d just run into: Emily (“Sonny”), Abby, Andi (“Sulli”), Rose, and Lindsey. They were all juniors at Barberry Stone High, and all played on the varsity soccer team, so Christen would soon be coaching them. The way Tobin talked, Christen suspected that Lindsey was her favorite of the bunch, but it was clear that she loved all of them.</p><p>“Have you known all of them for their whole lives? Like, since they were babies?” Christen asked as they were speeding down the highway towards Salem. She tried to imagine a world in which she’d grown up in such a close-knit community. She couldn’t picture it. What would it be like to have so many people around, knowing so many personal details about her life, her family, her home? It sort of made her skin crawl, to be honest. </p><p>“Uh, no, actually.” Tobin said. “I’m not from Barberry Stone originally. I only moved here about three or four years ago, and that’s when I met all the girls.”</p><p><em>Huh</em>, Christen thought as her brain flew through the calculations without even trying. <em>If she’s around my age, that means she moved here when she was twenty? Twenty-one? Had she just finished college? Did she move here alone? </em></p><p>Christen was too well-bred to ask for more details straight-out, but she couldn’t help prying a little. “Did you move here to be a paramedic?” she asked.</p><p>“No, the paramedic thing was kind of new,” Tobin said slowly. There was a beat of silence in the car, and Christen worried that she’d already prodded too far and made the other girl uncomfortable. But then Tobin continued, “I grew up in New Jersey, but I’ve kind of lived all over. I was kind of…at a crossroads, and I had met Pia through a thing, and she offered to let me come stay with her for a bit. It was like, the nicest thing anyone had ever done for me.” Tobin shrugged. “She was the principal of the high school—it was the year she came back from her teaching stint at Stanford—so she got me some odd jobs around the school, fixing things up. I didn’t want to be a burden on her for too long, so I started looking for other work. I got to know the other paramedics here pretty well, and they needed more staffing, so with Pia’s help I went and got the paramedics courses I needed in Salem. Took a bit of time, but I finally started working full-time a couple years back.”</p><p>It wasn’t hard to read between the lines of the story. Tobin had not had an easy life, that much was clear, even though she’d only offered sparse details. But who was Christen to ask for any more than what Tobin had offered, when there was so much Christen was hiding herself? “Classic Pia,” she couldn’t help saying fondly. “Always looking out for people.”</p><p>“She’s really the best,” Tobin agreed fervently, and Christen felt a rush of warm affinity for the girl. In Christen’s book, it was hard not to love someone who loved Pia.</p><p>Christen almost regretted changing the subject, but she knew she had to, before Tobin decided to ask about her own background. Stanford had already been mentioned, so she knew they were getting too close. “So Kelley grew up here, right?”</p><p>“Yeah, for sure. Kelley knows everyone, and everyone knows Kelley,” Tobin laughed.</p><p>“According to Kelley, <em>you’re</em> the most popular girl in town,” Christen retorted teasingly, before she could catch herself. Would a statement like that come off too friendly? Too curious?</p><p>“Oh my god, when did she say that?” Tobin muttered under her breath, half to herself. “It’s not true,” she added more loudly for Christen’s benefit, even though the self-conscious blush creeping up her neck definitely betrayed her words. “People here are really welcoming to new folks. Don’t worry, in no time, everyone around here will know you and love you, too.”</p><p>Christen shook her head. “I’m…not really one for crowds or people,” she said as pointedly as possible, hoping Tobin would pick up on the hint. “I mostly just like to keep to myself. I like a lot of alone time.”</p><p>But instead, she drew the opposite effect of what she hoped. “Me, too!” Tobin exclaimed, an easy smile spreading over her face. “I mean, don’t get me wrong—I love Kelley, and Julie, and all of them—but I love being on my own, I think more than anything.”</p><p>(Only Christen knew that the difference was that Tobin was choosing to balance her alone time with her social time, while Christen just…never had social time, period.)</p><p>“What do you do with all your time by yourself?” Christen asked curiously.</p><p>“Well…” Tobin tapped her fingers on the steering wheel as she thought. “I like to go camping. Sometimes I go with Kelley, but sometimes I go on my own. I like music. I like being by the water, boating or swimming or surfing. I garden a lot, in my backyard. In another life I think I could’ve been a farmer,” she chuckled. “What about you?”</p><p>Christen pondered for a second. The honest truth about her hobbies might actually be safe to share. “I like to read poetry,” she offered. “And I meditate and do yoga. I was hoping to get a little more into hiking, but…” she grimaced down at her ankle. “I guess that’s going to have to wait a couple more months.”</p><p>“Oh, the trails here are amazing,” Tobin said. “The girls and I try to get in a weekend hike every few weeks in the fall, so maybe you can join starting in October if you get the sign-off from Ali!”</p><p>“Yeah, maybe,” Christen shrugged, trying to come off uninterested.</p><p>Tobin seemed to pick up the change in mood, and didn’t mention anything else about Christen hanging out with the gang for the rest of the drive to Salem.</p><p>The hospital in Salem seemed huge and bustling after spending time in Barberry Stone’s tiny hospital, but Tobin seemed to have everything well in hand. She carefully helped maneuver Christen across the parking lot, keeping her arm hooked around Christen’s waist for support. She knew exactly where to head in the hospital without asking for directions, and some of the receptionists and nurses even waved at her in the halls. Christen wondered how often Tobin came to see Pia—according to Ali, Pia’s stroke had only been shortly before Christen’s accident.</p><p>“All right, Pia’s room is right here,” Tobin announced softly as they approached the end of a hallway on the fourth floor. “You ready?”</p><p>Christen took a deep breath, steeled her emotions, and nodded. “Yes, let’s go.”</p><p>Tobin knocked gently on the door, then pushed it open and let Christen hobble through first.</p><p>Christen approached the foot of Pia’s bed, slowly taking in the sight before her. Back at Stanford, Pia had been so full of life: her movements were sharp and snappy, she gesticulated enthusiastically with her hands when she talked, and her eyes seemed to pierce right through Christen as she made a point.</p><p>But now she was lying still, and thin, and gaunt, alone on the narrow hospital bed. A feeding tube ran from her mouth, and other wires and needles were taped up against her frail, wrinkled arms.</p><p>Christen shut her eyes tight and concentrated on taking deep breaths through her nose to stop herself from crying.</p><p>“Pia?” She heard Tobin say in a hushed voice, approaching the bed and taking Pia’s still hand in hers. “How are you doing today? I brought you a surprise.” Tobin glanced across the bed at Christen with a soft smile. “It’s Christen. Remember I told you last time I was here that she made it to Barberry Stone? She’s here to see you. She came as soon as she could.”</p><p>As Christen tried to collect herself, Tobin headed around the bed. She grabbed a chair for Christen, brought it right up to the bedside, and helped Christen sit down into it. She gave Christen an encouraging nod and backed up towards the door.</p><p>Christen took Pia’s hand in both of hers. Her skin was papery-thin and cool to the touch.</p><p>“Pia…” she whispered a little desperately, wishing she could emulate the conversational, casual way that Tobin had just spoken. But she couldn’t yet. She couldn’t find the words.</p><p>Instead, she lowered her forehead to their intertwined hands and burst into tears.</p><p>She didn’t know how long she sat there and cried. It was the first time she’d shed tears for weeks and weeks, since before she even arrived in Oregon. At some point, she registered dimly that Tobin laid a feather-light, comforting hand on her shoulder before quietly leaving the room. She cried for Pia, for the long years they’d been out of touch. She cried for herself, for her fears and uncertainties. She cried for her mom, and for the wreckage of the family that remained. They weren’t tears of release, and they didn’t bring any calm or relief with them. In fact, the longer she cried, the more her troubles seemed to loom threateningly overhead.</p><p>She finally got ahold of herself enough to form words, and she rubbed her eyes with the back of her hands, trying to pull herself together. “Hey, Pia,” she murmured. <em>Can she hear me?</em> “Sorry this is, uh, such a downer of a reunion. I’ll try to do better next time I’m here instead of crying all over you, okay?”</p><p>She liked to imagine Pia would laugh at Christen’s pathetic attempt to make a joke. Pia always said Christen was too serious for her own good. It was one of the first things she’d pointed out about Christen.</p><p>After Pia had handed back their first exams in their Supply Chain Management seminar, she’d noticed that Christen had wiped away tears for the rest of class that day because she’d gotten a B+.</p><p>“You’re seventeen years old, you don’t need to have everything perfect and your life all figured out at this point,” Pia had said when Christen went to her office hours to try to get the grade raised to an A.</p><p>“I don’t think you understand,” Christen had replied solemnly. “I <em>do</em> need to have my life figured out.”</p><p>(Over time, Pia had learned that Christen wasn’t wrong.)</p><p>“I’m here in Barberry Stone. Everyone seems really nice so far. I think I’m going to like being friends with them all.” Christen felt sort of bad lying to someone in a coma, but she knew Pia would want to hear that she was making an effort socially. “I don’t know if Tobin mentioned to you, but I got in a little car accident on the way in. Don’t worry, everything is fine, no serious injuries. Ali Krieger is my doctor at the hospital. She’s really nice.”</p><p>She tried to think of what she would have said to Pia if everything had gone as planned, if Pia hadn’t had a stroke and Christen hadn’t had an accident, and if Christen had just arrived at Pia’s house as planned on a sunny Saturday morning in August. She knew Pia would have a lot of questions for her, and probably a lot of advice, which Christen would probably not have wanted to take. It was always a bit of a push-and-pull relationship with them. “Thanks for helping me with the move here, and with finding the job, and with covering my tracks,” Christen continued. “I know I might not be staying here for very long, depending on…how things might go. But I’m so grateful to you. For your help. Thanks for being here for me, especially because if I’d done things your way, I might’ve saved myself from all this,” she paused, wiping away a few more tears. “I should’ve listened to you senior year,” she finished dejectedly.</p><p>It was something she’d told herself a hundred times, a thousand times, since she graduated: <em>If only you’d listened to Pia. If only you’d slowed down and heard her warnings</em>.</p><p>She thought back to all the times in the past few years she’d desperately wished Pia was close by, to talk to. One instance stood out with particular awfulness. “Um…Mom died,” she said softly, the tears beginning to roll again. “I wanted to reach out to you then. I just wanted to hear your voice again. I was so lost.” Christen dabbed her eyes dry with the hem of her shirt. “But I think I already knew, even then, that it’d be safer for you to have a little distance from me. So, uh, sorry to come back into your orbit now, with all my baggage.”</p><p>She didn’t know how long she sat there whispering to Pia. Tobin never came back in. The afternoon shadows slanting in through the windows crawled their way across the bedspread as the hours passed. Before she was ready to go, there was a loud knock on the door, and a nurse popped her head in. “Sorry to interrupt, but it’s past the end of visiting hours,” she said, not unkindly, but very firmly.</p><p>Reluctantly, Christen uncurled herself from the chair and rose to her feet. She glanced over to the doorway, half expecting to see Tobin coming in behind the nurse, but there was no sign of her. She brushed her hand over Pia’s hand one more time, with a whispered promise on her lips to come back as soon as she could. The thought of returning to her quiet, silent house without a friend somehow seemed much more difficult after seeing Pia. But when the nurse cleared her throat again, insistently, Christen tore herself away, crutched stiffly over to the door, and emerged out into the hallway.</p><p>It took a second for her eyes to adjust to the bright fluorescence and bustle of the hospital hallway. It must’ve gotten darker in Pia’s room than she realized. She glanced left and right, trying to get her bearings in the midst of all the staff and patients hurrying around. Then she spotted Tobin.</p><p>Tobin was leaning against the wall a ways down the hallway, hands in her pockets—and she wasn’t alone. A blonde girl in medical scrubs was leaning her shoulder against the wall right next to Tobin, leaning in close, and they were laughing together at something the girl was saying. Christen tore her eyes away as if she’d somehow interrupted a private moment.</p><p><em>Looks like her charm is fully functional outside of Barberry Stone too</em>, Christen thought, feeling a strange rush of loss that she couldn’t quite place (and didn’t want to think too hard about).</p><p>She leaned awkwardly on her crutch for another few seconds, not wanting to stray too far from the room without letting Tobin know, but not wanting to interrupt whatever conversation Tobin was having, either. Luckily, she didn’t have to wait long. It only took Tobin a moment to realize that Christen had emerged from the room, and she immediately shoved herself off the wall and away from the blonde girl. As she jogged easily over towards Christen, Christen couldn’t help glancing over Tobin’s shoulder at the blonde girl. She was glaring glumly at Tobin’s retreating figure, clearly not thrilled to have been left behind. And the glance she threw Christen’s way was cold and questioning.</p><p>“Hey, how’d it go?” Tobin asked tenderly as she approached, automatically reaching out to wrap her arm around Christen’s waist to hold her up, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Christen froze for a second, wondering if she should maneuver away. But there was nobody here to see them; nobody would care. After crying herself out for hours, Christen felt strangely floaty and contemplative, at ease around Tobin. After all, Tobin had seen her cry—she could literally count on one hand the number of people in her life who had seen her cry. There seemed to be a new, stronger bond between them.</p><p>And for some reason, the knowledge that the blonde girl down the hall was still staring at them filled Christen with a sort of reckless, fizzy possessiveness.</p><p>So she leaned in, resting her back in the warm crook of Tobin’s elbow. “It was…hard,” she said, surprising even herself with her honesty. “I haven’t seen Pia in a long time, and it’s not easy seeing her like this, you know?”</p><p>“I totally get it,” Tobin said softly, locking eyes with Christen. So up close, Christen found herself mesmerized by the way the depth of Tobin’s eyes, the look of faraway pain that they held as Tobin spoke. “The first time I was here a couple weeks ago, I think I hyperventilated in the hallway for ten minutes before I got up the courage to go inside. It gets better, though.”</p><p>“I hope it does,” Christen said as they headed slowly down the hallway together. “Do you think…would it be all right if I come with you next time, too?”</p><p>“Christen, duh!” Tobin exclaimed, her face lighting up. Her hand tightened comfortingly around the smell of Christen’s waist, sending shivers running up Christen’s side. “Every time I come you can come. We can come every day during visiting hours, if that’s what you want.”</p><p>Out of the corner of her eye, Christen caught a glimpse of the blonde girl as they turned the corner. She was still glaring after them with her arms crossed, her expression icy. </p><p>It seemed to take way longer to get across the parking lot than when they’d arrived. Christen realized that she’d missed her usual afternoon dosage when she felt the pounding pain in her ribs with every step. Twice, she had to ask Tobin to slow down, her face growing hot with embarrassment. Tobin just smiled, though, and held even more closely to her as they walked.</p><p>Ten minutes in, Christen put out her hand for a third break, gasping for breath. Tobin stopped. She bit her lip as she surveyed the distance between them and the parked truck. Then, without a word, she stooped and swung Christen up into her arms.</p><p>“Tobin!” Christen gasped. She was equal parts embarrassed and delighted. “You don’t…uh, you don’t have to…”</p><p>“Christen, this is for my own good as much as yours,” Tobin said in a teasing voice, a smirk lingering around the corner of her mouth. “I’d like to get back to Barberry Stone before midnight, wouldn’t you?”</p><p>“Shut up,” Christen muttered. If her face was reflecting how she felt, she was absolutely sure her cheeks were beet red for all the world to see. She turned and hid her face in Tobin’s shoulder as the girl sauntered easily across the parking lot, as if Christen was a feather in her arms. </p><p>There it was again—</p><p>That scent. Sunny, woody, sensual. Intoxicating. With her nose buried in Tobin’s collarbone, Christen froze, her mind spinning with recognition. She didn’t even notice as they approached the car until Tobin was setting her down softly. Tobin’s face looked a little flushed, and her breaths seemed to be quick and shallow—probably from the exertion of carrying Christen so far across the parking lot, Christen thought in embarrassment. She let Tobin lift her up into the passenger seat and buckle her in, seamless and smooth this time. As Tobin circled around to the driver’s side, Christen squeezed her eyes shut, trying to remember.</p><p>Then she remembered: the shirt from the hospital!  </p><p>“Hey,” she said to Tobin as the other girl hopped into the car. “Last week, at the hospital. The clothes that Sofia gave me to wear the day I went home. Were those yours?”</p><p>“Uh…” Tobin looked a little startled at the abrupt question. “Yeah, they were,” she admitted with a tiny, surprised smile. “Why do you ask?”</p><p>Oops, Christen hadn’t thought that far ahead. <em>You smell AMAZING, just like that shirt did</em>, was definitely not an appropriate sentence to say out loud to a new acquaintance.</p><p>“I guess I just assumed they were Kelley’s,” she offered a little lamely.</p><p>Tobin rolled her eyes and grinned a little ashamedly. “Well, that’s a fair assumption, since I was otherwise being super weird, ignoring you. I was kind of thrown off by our first conversation, and, uh, I don’t have much of a poker face.”</p><p>“Well, like I said earlier, it was my fault for being rude in the first place,” Christen insisted.</p><p>Tobin just waved her off with an understanding grin. “Whatever. It was probably both of our faults. Regardless, it’s all water under the bridge,” her eyes wandered over to Christen, “now that we’re friends, right?”</p><p>Christen couldn’t quite bring herself to lie out loud, but she gave Tobin what she hoped was a warm, convincing smile. They lapsed into silence again, speeding down the road with the sunset at their backs.</p><p><em>Now that we’re friends</em>. <em>Friends</em>. Christen mulled over the word, turning it over and over in her mind. It filled her with a gray, tightly clenching feeling, almost like a fear.</p><p>If she were being terribly honest with herself, she didn’t know if she had what it took, either to give friendship or to accept it. Maybe not even to need it in her life. Maybe she just wasn’t built for it.</p><p><em>Weird,</em> Christen’s mind wandered as she watched the roadside trees flash by, blurs of green against the peachy-pink sunset sky. <em>I figured out that Tobin smelled familiar today because I recognized it from the shirt. But when I put that shirt on last week…didn’t I already think it was familiar from somewhere else? Am I just imagining things? Maybe I just thought it smelled really good—let’s be real, she does smell REALLY good</em>—</p><p>“So Christen, how did you meet Pia?”</p><p>Tobin’s question dragged Christen out of her reverie in an instant. All thoughts of the shirt flew out of her mind.</p><p>“Pia and I…we…” Christen realized she didn’t actually have a good answer for this. She hadn’t come up with a story before she’d come, because she thought that she and Pia would have a chance to brainstorm one together.</p><p>“I don’t really want to talk about Pia right now, if that’s all right,” she ended up saying in a low voice, hoping it didn’t seem too suspicious.</p><p>Tobin’s face immediately clouded over with concern and sympathy. “Oh, god, I’m sorry. You just said it was hard to—sorry, I should’ve known better than to ask. That’s my bad.”</p><p>Once again, Christen felt bad playing on Tobin’s guilt, but at least it was effective. The topic of Pia was officially bracketed, and Christen promised to come up with a plausible tale that very night. “So, tell me about…” she mentally ran through the hobbies Tobin had mentioned earlier that day and picked the safest one, “…music. What kind of music do you like?”</p><p>“Oh, a little bit of everything,” Tobin said. “I’m in kind of a jazz phase right now. And I play piano for the church on Sundays, so there’s always that.”</p><p><em>Huh</em>. Two answers Christen had definitely not been expecting.</p><p>“You look surprised,” Tobin called Christen out with a little smirk on her face. “What, you don’t think I’m classy enough for jazz and church?”</p><p>“I didn’t say that!” Christen protested, but Tobin was laughing, and then Christen was laughing too. Tobin’s laugh was hard to resist. “Although I must admit, I pegged you more for a folk rock and reggae type of girl.”</p><p>“Well, I’m definitely also a folk rock and reggae girl,” Tobin said immediately. “And you are…” she glanced over at Christen. “I think you’re also a folk rock girl. Maybe R&amp;B. Relaxing, acoustic music.”</p><p>Wow, right on the nose. Christen was almost a little disconcerted at Tobin’s deadly accurate guess. She didn’t like the feeling of being known, of being transparent. “Yeah, maybe,” she admitted, feigning playfulness to hide her discomfort. “But you’re just saying ‘relaxing, acoustic music’ because I said I liked yoga and meditation earlier.”</p><p>“Maybe a little,” Tobin chuckled. “Your turn. Tell me about meditation. What do you like about it?”</p><p>Christen pondered for a moment. She wondered if she’d ever had to explain what she liked about meditation before. It was kind of fun, trying to put the thoughts together, package her fondness for it. “I guess…I like that it reminds me that everything I need is within me. That I don’t really need anything else, or anyone else. I can sit and just…appreciate the beauty and power of silence, something that’s always there with me. You reacquaint yourself with stillness. You remind yourself of your own resilience. You find yourself again, alone.”</p><p>“Hmm,” was all that Tobin said in response.</p><p>“It sounds boring, right?” Christen backtracked self-consciously.</p><p>“No, it doesn’t. Honestly, it sounds beautiful. Fascinating,” Tobin said, but Christen could tell that her mind was still whirring, that she was picking over her words carefully. “But also…it sounds a little …lonely.”</p><p>Christen felt her defenses rise. “Well, I don’t think it’s lonely. And I’m not lonely.”</p><p>“Oh, no, of course not.” Now it was Tobin’s turn to backtrack. She smiled over at Christen. “Maybe I should try it sometime.”</p><p>They talked more about Tobin’s gardening, about Christen’s yoga, about Tobin’s camping. Christen was careful to keep the whole conversation in innocuous territory, never mentioning feelings or memories or family members. But as the sun began to sink further down the horizon, she couldn’t stop herself from yawning a couple times. After so much stillness in the past week, it was feeling like the end of a particularly long day.</p><p>“You should rest a little,” Tobin finally said, after Christen yawned again in the middle of a story about a camping trip Tobin and Kelley had taken last year. “I’m clearly boring you with this anecdote.”</p><p>“No, I’m not tired at—” Christen’s body betrayed with her another yawn. “—at all,” she finished with a sheepish smile.</p><p>Her eyelids were beginning to droop, even as she said that. Car rides always tended to put her to sleep. It was something about the rocking.</p><p>“How about this,” Tobin grinned, fiddling with her phone and auxiliary cord. “I will put on some ‘relaxing, acoustic music,’ and we’ll just sit in silence. And if you fall asleep, you fall asleep.”</p><p>Christen hummed her agreement as the soft sounds of an old James Vincent McMorrow album filled the car.</p><p>“I love this song,” she muttered, leaning her head back against the seat, basking in the sound of the guitars mingling with the tones of Tobin’s soft laughter.</p><p><em>Just a second. I’ll just close my eyes for a second</em>.</p><hr/><p>
  <strong>She was somewhere sunny.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>The sun was beating down overhead. It was scalding hot on the back of her neck; when she touched her hair, it seemed to singe her fingertips. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>The treetops all around her seemed to buzz with static. They blurred into the bright blue sky behind, came back into focus, blurred again. The dirt roads were stained, dark. The patter of children’s feet sounded far in the distance.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Then, suddenly rising in front of her, there was an enormous gray concrete building. The hulking structure stretched far into the sky—twenty stories, thirty, forty maybe. It seemed to stretch higher and higher, the longer she looked up at it. The windows had bars over them. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>And then she was behind one of those barred windows, looking out, out at the jungle treetops and the dirt roads. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Christen?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>She turned around. She was in a bare concrete room, sunlight pouring in from the barred window and lighting the whole place up.  And with her there was a little girl with dark hair and eyes, a pink bandanna over her hair and a yellow apron, too big for her, wrapped around her body. She was tugging timidly at the hem of Christen’s suit jacket. “Christen, are you here to get me?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Baby, I’m here to get you,” Christen cooed, kneeling down and gathering the girl into her arms. “You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>When Christen pulled away to look the girl in the eye, that was when she realized: the girl was her, Christen, circa age 7. The girl had her face.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>And then, in a flash, the girl turned and fled the room. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong><em>Wait</em>, Christen wanted to say, <em>where are you going?</em> But she couldn’t form the words. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>It took a strangely long time to get up off her knees, to move across the room to the door, as if she was moving underwater. When she finally got to the doorframe, she looked down onto an enormous, cavernous warehouse space, dim and dusty, filled with saw-toothed machines and steel staircases. And then she saw the girl, herself: being carried down a nearby staircase by two men in camouflage shirts, with rifles on their backs. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong><em>Stop, </em>Christen tried to yell. <em>There’s been a mistake</em>. Was she talking? Was she moving? Nobody seemed to be able to hear her. She fought her way forward, her limbs not cooperating. She tried to scream louder. <em>Please, please, let her go. Let me go! Let me go!</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>The girl was almost out of sight. The soldiers carrying her were winding their ways through the machinery, heading towards a dark doorway. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong><em>Please, please, no, let her go</em>. Christen couldn’t seem to move her body to the staircase, to follow them through the doorway. They were almost through the doorway. They were at the door. They were gone, into the darkness.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong><em>Christen!</em> She was trying to scream. She thought she heard someone else screaming for the girl, trying to get the men to turn back around. <em>Christen, Christen</em>… </strong>
</p><p>“Christen!”</p><p>Christen snapped awake in the dark, gasping for air, a scream still dying in her throat.</p><p>“Oh my god, Christen, are you okay?”</p><p>Christen bowed her head over the dashboard, trying to regulate her ragged breaths. Her throat was sore and her face was wet with tears. <em>It was a dream, just another dream, you’re fine, you’re fine</em>…</p><p>And…<em>shit</em>. There in the driver’s seat next to her was Tobin, eyes wide and shocked, hands outstretched as if she were reaching for Christen, to hold her. Christen shrank away towards the window as the full weight of what had just happened crashing down around her.</p><p>She’d fallen asleep in the car. She’d let herself fall asleep—knowing she hadn’t taken her medications that day, which meant she would probably have a nightmare. And when she had nightmares, she screamed. Sometimes she screamed horrible things.</p><p>She’d gotten far too comfortable. She’d exposed herself.</p><p>
  <em>You idiot. You fucking idiot! </em>
</p><p>“What happened?” Christen croaked out, as soon as she could catch her breath. “What did…what did you hear? What did I say?”</p><p>If Tobin thought the questions were a little strange, she didn’t show it. She was still wide-eyed, leaning towards Christen worriedly, her elbows resting on the console between them. “You fell asleep and after a while…you started mumbling; I couldn’t really hear, but it seemed like you weren’t doing okay,” Tobin said hesitantly. “We were almost at your place, so I thought I’d just try to make it all the way before waking you up, but then you started…you just started screaming. You were just…” Tobin shuddered visibly. “It wasn’t words, it was just…screaming. I pulled in just in time and tried to wake you up, but it took a while. Are you…are you okay?”</p><p>Christen looked around frantically and realized that they were parked in her driveway. It was dark out, with just the light from the nearby streetlamps illuminating the inside of the car, lighting up the angles of Tobin’s face, sparkling in her round, concerned eyes.</p><p>“I’m okay. I’m fine.” Christen answered, trying to clear her throat a little, still breathing hard. “It was nothing.”</p><p>“It didn’t seem like nothing,” Tobin murmured cautiously, bringing one hand slowly up to brush a tendril of hair back behind Christen’s ear. “Do you want to talk about it?”</p><p>Christen caught her breath, and her eyes fluttered shut, as Tobin’s warm, rough finger brushed against the shell of her ear. Lightning shivers radiated from the point of contact all the way down her spine, into her toes, into her fingertips.</p><p>It took her another beat to fully register what Tobin had just said.</p><p>“<em>It didn’t seem like nothing</em>.<em>” </em>A prying question. A suspicious question. </p><p>“It was nothing!” Christen repeated emphatically, flinching away. Tobin startled, too, recoiling her hand as if she’d been burned.</p><p><em>Today was a mistake</em>. The realization crashed down on Christen all at once, and she found herself physically gasping for breath. <em>A huge, sloppy mistake, caused by your own weakness, your lack of self-control. </em>Suddenly the inside of the truck seemed absolutely suffocating. <em>You let yourself get friendly with this girl and look: just a few hours in, and you’ve already put yourself at risk. </em></p><p>“Seriously, it was nothing. I’m totally fine. Thanks for the ride, and for everything—but I have to go—” Christen said, desperately trying to keep her voice steady. She turned from Tobin, fumbled with her good hand to get the door open and—<em>whoa</em>, the seat was higher up than she remembered, but her momentum was already carrying her forward, and the ground seemed to be rushing up at her, and—</p><p>“Whoa whoa whoa, hey, I got you,” Tobin seemed to materialize out of the dark, cradling Christen in her arms before she faceplanted on the grass. Somehow, she’d gotten out and circled around the front of the car before Christen had a chance to make a run for it.</p><p>Christen let her herself huddle in Tobin’s embrace for a long, lingering moment. Every limb on her body was shaking.</p><p>“Hey, listen to me for a sec,” Tobin said. Her voice, insistent and pleading, surprised Christen. She steadied Christen upright on the grass, but her hands lingered on Christen’s hip, on her elbow, keeping their bodies just a whisper away from each other. “I know I don’t know you that well yet, and I normally wouldn’t say this to someone I didn’t know well, but—you know—you know you don’t have to be okay all the time, right?” Tobin’s eyes were imploring, compassionate. “You’ve said a few times today that everything’s fine. I may not know everything that’s going on with you, but if it’s not fine…it’s okay, you know? It’s normal to have nightmares after something traumatic like a car accident happens to you. It’s normal to let Moe bring you more groceries, or to let Kelley give you rides, or…to talk to me. You could let us help you.”</p><p>Christen sucked in a breath, looked up into the blinding yellow streetlight to try to clear her mind, tried not to think too hard about Tobin’s warm hands on her skin, holding her upright. “I can’t,” she answered, a little despairingly—a little more honestly than she meant to. Something about this girl just broke down her usual barriers, made her say things she normally wouldn’t say. “I just can’t, okay? I…” She took another breath.</p><p>Alarms were going off in her head. <em>Vulnerability is what got you into this debacle. Scale it back.</em></p><p>“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I <em>really</em> am fine.” As if to try to prove it, however pathetically, Christen shrugged herself coldly away from Tobin’s hold, started hobbling her way slowly across the lawn towards the front door. <em>A Press is always fine</em>.</p><p>“What did you mean when you said you <em>just can’t</em>?” Tobin totally skipped over Christen’s pathetic little attempt to lie. Her tone was a little more disbelieving now, a little more frustrated, as she watched Christen try to stumble her way to the front door on one crutch. “Why can’t you?” In a couple long strides, she caught up with Christen, tried to support her by the elbow even though Christen leaned obstinately away from her.</p><p>
  <em>Because a Press is always fine. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Because you don’t know the first thing about me, and if you did, you wouldn’t want to know me at all. </em>
</p><p>“I can’t! I don’t…” Christen shook Tobin off as they approached the front step of the house. “I don’t know; I don’t want any trouble, you know?”</p><p>“Trouble?” Tobin’s brow was furrowed, her expression worried. “What trouble? Nobody here—wait, is anybody here trying to give you trouble?!”</p><p>“No, I’m not saying you are!” Christen exclaimed. “I’m saying I—” Christen managed to cut herself off just before she finished her sentence:</p><p><em>I’m saying I’m the trouble</em>.</p><p>“I just don’t really get it,” she blurted out. “I don’t get why everyone has been around. You, Kelley, Ali, the others. Doing things for me. Like…around me. You know?”</p><p>“Girl, you were in a serious car accident, and the only person you know in town is in a coma,” Tobin said bluntly. “What else did you think people were going to do? We’re not a bunch of monsters. People help out when it’s needed. It’s what people do.”</p><p><em>Is that really what you think?!</em> Christen stared into the other girl’s eyes in genuine astonishment. <em>How fucking naïve.</em> <em>Everyone is out for themselves; everyone’s just trying to hold their own</em>. “It’s not.” She exclaimed passionately before she could stop herself. Tobin was just wrong, <em>so</em> wrong. “That’s not it. That’s just not how life works. People aren’t just nice. There’s always something they want. There’s always some price to be paid.”</p><p>“I’m trying to tell you…” Tobin said in a voice that, for the first time that day, wavered with distress and uncertainty, “I’m trying to say there’s not a price for help, with any of us. With me.”</p><p>God, Christen wanted to believe her. She wanted it so bad. But she’d seen enough of human nature to know that life didn’t work out that way, with friendships and miracles and happy endings.</p><p>Her mind was clear now—maybe it hadn’t been clear earlier today, but the nightmare had brushed away the cobwebs, refocused her on her priorities. She just needed to focus on survival, and in order to survive, she needed this girl—this captivating, weird, wonderful girl—to go away and <em>stay</em> away.</p><p>So she slotted her key into the doorknob, steeled her self-resolve, took a deep, shuddering breath, and turned towards Tobin with a glare. </p><p>“You’re overstepping. I’m fine. I never asked you to be my knight in shining armor,” she said, trying to keep her voice firm, trying not to let it quaver with the tears she was holding in. “I meant what I said earlier today: I just want to be left alone. By everyone. That’s really all I want. I need you to leave me alone, okay?”</p><p>The stricken hurt on Tobin’s face almost made her take it back. <em>Almost</em>. Thank god she caught herself with a reminder just in the nick of time: <em>It’s for Tobin’s own good, too; she’ll just never know it</em>.  </p><p>Powered solely by that last reminder—<em>this is for Tobin, too</em>—Christen fled through the door into the safe, private darkness of the house and shut it behind her as quickly as she could. She stood with her back to the door, trying to catch her breath, listening to see what Tobin would do. A few long moments later, the sound of Tobin’s footsteps receded away from the front steps.</p><p>Christen was half expecting something dramatic, like in the movies she’d seen: for Tobin to peel out of the driveway in a huff, tires squealing, horn blaring. But nothing of the sort happened. She watched through the curtains as Tobin walked with slumped shoulders to her truck and got in, quietly shutting the door behind her. The truck sat in the dark driveway for another minute or two. Then finally, the headlights blinked on, and the truck backed silently out of the driveway and vanished down the street.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Hey! Anybody sitting here?”</p><p>Christen looked up, startled, to see Kelley O’Hara grinning down at her. She was gesturing at the empty metal folding chair next to Christen.</p><p>“Uh…no,” Christen responded, and Kelley plopped down in satisfaction. The muffins and fruit on her paper plate bounced around dangerously close to the edge of the plate. The very sight of it made Christen’s anxiety spike, but Kelley didn’t seem to notice at all.</p><p>“So, teachers training day! Are you ready? Of course you are; I bet you’ve lesson planned for the entire year already,” Kelley said casually, shoveling a few pieces of melon in her mouth.</p><p>“Um, I hope I’m ready,” Christen said with a nervous laugh.</p><p>She was shocked at Kelley’s friendliness. They hadn’t seen each other once since the first day that Kelley had moved Christen in.</p><p>And of course, Christen hadn’t seen anyone since her big fight with Tobin a week ago.</p><p>She’d gone to bed that night despondent, wondering if she should text Tobin an apology. But reason and caution had taken over, and she held firm. The morning after, she’d woken from nightmare-filled dreams with aching shoulders and a stiffness in her jaw. The sun was shining, she was alone, she had no missed calls or texts from Tobin. It was as if the previous day had never happened.</p><p>(When she went out to get the mail, though, she saw a stack of Spanish textbooks piled neatly at the corner of the front step. Tobin must have come back with them in the middle of the night.)</p><p>Did she regret the outburst? Absolutely. She regretted everything about that day. Most of all, she regretted that haunted hurt in Tobin’s eyes as she was closing the door in her face.</p><p>Every time the image floated to the front of her mind, she pushed it away by reminding herself in a never-ending refrain: <em>it had to be done, it was for her own good</em>. But somehow, the sting hadn’t gone out of the memory yet. When she imagined Tobin’s honey-brown eyes in her mind, she felt vaguely nauseous. And every day, she beat herself up for it. <em>If you hadn’t gotten too friendly in the first place, if you hadn’t been irresponsible and idiotic, none of this would’ve happened. </em></p><p>Sitting alone on the couch the next day, picking listlessly at her food, she had imagined Tobin going back to her whole gang and spilling the beans: <em>I spent all day driving that Kristen Channing girl around on errands, but it turns out that she’s an ungrateful bitch, and oh yeah, she’s also a psycho who screams in her sleep.</em></p><p>She’d made the slow walk to school today mentally preparing for Kelley to give her the cold shoulder—today, and for the rest of the school year.</p><p>But here they were: sitting side by side, Kelley absentmindedly sniffing at one of the muffins on her plate as Christen self-consciously took another sip of the bad coffee they had on offer. Other teachers were milling around the room and filling in the rows of folding chairs in the cafeteria. They all seemed to know each other well. Christen was frankly shocked that Kelley was even deigning to sit next to her, when she had the option of hanging out with anybody else in the room.</p><p>“How’s your ankle holding up?” Kelley asked, peering down at it.</p><p>“Ankle’s good. I walked this morning and it held up fine.” It had actually hurt a little towards the end, as she was getting close to the school, but she wasn’t about to admit that.</p><p>“You walked here?!” Kelley’s eyebrows shot all the way up. “On your crutches?! I mean, I could’ve easily given you a—”</p><p>Kelley cut herself off abruptly, looking a little self-conscious. She made guilty eye contact with Christen for a second before glancing away. Ah, there it was. Tobin had for sure told her about Christen’s outburst. Something like, "<em>she told me super rudely that she wants everyone to leave her alone, forever</em>."</p><p>“So, have you heard who they hired as the new principal to replace Pia?” Christen changed the topic.</p><p>Kelley shook her head, then lowered her voice way down. “I heard some of the older teachers wanted to promote from within, but instead, the county school board brought someone in from outside. Whatever, as long as he’s not a total micro-manager, it should be okay. We’ll all miss Pia, though. Man, the kids love her.”</p><p>The room quieted as a man, surely the new principal, swaggered into the room and took the podium. Christen surveyed him skeptically. He was wearing a tacky suit that shone with a cheap sheen, and he wore a smug little smirk, unimpressed with the roomful of small-town teachers before him.</p><p>“Well, let’s get ourselves introduced, shall we?” he said in an oily, pompous voice. “My name is James Pearce. I come to you with six years of experience as principal of East Brunswick High School in the suburbs of Portland. This will be quite a change for me, though probably not much of a challenge. It’s such a pleasure to be here in your…cute little school.” The condescending sneer on his face said the exact opposite. “Let’s begin going over the rules in the teachers’ handbook.”</p><p>“Ugh,” Kelley muttered, barely under her breath, and Christen couldn’t help but stifle a giggle. Kelley elbowed her gently in camaraderie.</p><p>As Principal Pearce droned on, Christen couldn’t help but notice that his beady little eyes wandered over to her—and then <em>over</em> her—several times. The full-body scan was not at all subtle. She sunk a little lower in her seat, trying to crouch behind the tall, broad-shouldered teacher sitting in front of her. She could feel Kelley bristling protectively and constantly glancing over next to her, and felt an unexpected rush of gratitude to have the other girl present.</p><p>Christen already hated him. She wanted to crush him under her heel. She’d crushed men like him before, dozens of them. But instead, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. <em>Calm down, and  whatever you do, stay out of trouble</em><em>, </em>she chastened herself.<em> Picking fights with horrible men isn’t your job anymore</em>. <em>Besides, you can’t afford to draw any attention to yourself.</em></p><p>But forty-five minutes in, when Principal Pearce sneered yet again in her direction, Christen felt like she was almost about to explode. She couldn’t get to her feet and scream at him, but could she get up and “go to the bathroom” without causing a stir? On her crutches, maybe not. Just as she was sitting there in agony, contemplating what to do, the tall teacher in front of her fumbled some papers, dropped them on the floor, and stooped to collect them. When she rose again to sit, she planted herself down one chair over from where she’d been sitting earlier, her wide shoulders entirely blocking Christen from Principal Pearce’s line of sight.</p><p><em>Oh, thank the lord</em>.</p><p>The rest of the talk crawled along as Principal Pearce basically read to them verbatim out of the teachers' handbook, like the world's most odious and everlasting bedtime story. Almost two hours after he originally started talking, they finally broke for lunch. He strutted out of the room without greeting anybody, casting one last leer Christen’s way.</p><p>“The fuck, man,” Kelley shook her head disbelievingly. “You want me to beat him up? I'll do it. Seriously.”</p><p>“Shit, I miss Pia,” was all Christen could say, in a faint voice.</p><p>The tall teacher in front of them turned around. For a second, Christen couldn’t quite read her stern expression, but then she was putting her hand out, and saying, “Sorry, I should’ve moved to block you way earlier on. I’m Alyssa Naeher.”</p><p>“Alyssa, you’re a lifesaver. I’m Christen,” Christen breathed. Then the familiarity of the name from one of the papers in Pia’s folder hit her. “Alyssa. Are you the boys’ soccer coach?”</p><p>“That is me,” Alyssa confirmed with a little grin. “And since we haven’t had an official girls’ coach since the last one up and quit last year, I’ve basically been coaching both teams. It’ll be great to have you here. The girls are really stoked to have a coach again.”</p><p>“I hope I live up to it,” Christen worried out loud, casting a despairing glance down at her cast.</p><p>Alyssa seemed to be able to read her thoughts. “Don’t worry, not like you have to run the drills alongside them,” she said, rising from her seat. “I’m going to head to my English classroom. It’s right near the Spanish classroom, so don’t be a stranger. Nice meeting you.”</p><p>After lunch, Christen spent the afternoon in her classroom, tidying up and getting everything organized. It was a neat little room with a green chalkboard and twenty gleaming honey-brown wood desks all in straight lines, exactly how she’d always imagined a high school classroom would look like, just the ones she’d seen in the movies. The name <em>Ms. Kristen Channing</em> was already installed on a little placard on the door. She stood behind the desk, shut her eyes tight, and imagined the rows full of students.</p><p>She hated to admit it, but she was pretty nervous. She’d never taught before, and she didn’t have a teaching license or certificate or anything like that. She was basically only here because Pia had pulled strings for her. What would teaching be like? Would it be similar enough to managing a business team? Negotiating a deal? What if she sucked at it? She wouldn’t have the safety cushion of Principal Pia Sundhage: now she’d have to handle any complaints going to that haughty little man. <em>Lovely</em>.</p><p>Christen was distracted from her worrying when Alyssa came into the room to chat about soccer practice plans for the week. After Alyssa departed, Christen conducted one final check of the classroom and then quietly locked up behind her. Right across the narrow hall, she saw that a classroom door—labeled <em>Ms. Kelley O’Hara</em>— was standing open. 80s throwback music was blasting out into the hallway, and through the windows between the room and the hallway, it looked like Kelley was in the midst of hanging up a bunch of colorful posters.</p><p>Christen stood uncertainly in the hallway for a minute. Kelley's music was so loud that she would definitely be able to escape down the hallway, crutches and all, without her noticing. On the other hand, she didn’t want to lose that sliver of camaraderie they’d had over Principal Pearce that morning. More and more, she was sensing that she could use an ally in this workplace, and that would require some basic politeness on her end. So she crutched her way up to Kelley’s door and gave it a timid knock. “Hey, I’m heading out. Just wanted to say bye." </p><p>“Oh hey, bye!” Kelley waved enthusiastically from where she was perched on a desk with a poster in one hand and a roll of masking tape hung over her wrist like a bracelet.</p><p>Christen was already making her way slowly down the hall when she heard a clatter and a rush of footsteps behind her. “Hey, Christen!” Kelley called after her. “Wait up!”</p><p>Christen wondered if Kelley was going to offer her a ride again, and was half-tempted to accept it after the long day she’d just had.</p><p>But instead, Kelley said, “I was going to text you later, but I might as well tell you in person. On the Sunday night before school starts, I’m having a party at my place. It’s a tradition every year; almost all of the teachers go.”</p><p>“Oh wow, cool,” Christen responded vaguely. “I’ll put it in my calendar!”</p><p>“I’m almost done with my room,” Kelley suggested hopefully. “I was planning to grab a coffee at Moe’s with Julie after this…in case you wanted to join?”</p><p>“Oh, I can’t today, but thanks,” Christen said, with a smile she hoped read as cheery and not panicky. The thought of crashing their pre-planned gathering sent flurries of unease through her body. They probably didn't want her there, disrupting their routine; it was probably just a pity invite. Besides, she should be keeping her distance anyway. So she lied, “I just realized that I left my medications at home, so I need to run and take them.”</p><p>The whole walk home, she wondered if she should attend Kelley’s party. After all, Kelley had said it was a “tradition.” Was it mandatory? If every other teacher was going to be there, would it be make her stand out even more if she missed it?</p><p>The late afternoon August streets were more crowded with playing children than she expected, and quite a few cars zipped past as she walked. She wondered if they were staring at her, the gimpy little stranger crutching her lonesome way down the avenue. She wondered if it would actually be a more under-the-radar move to just accept rides from Kelley and zip her way on home in a car.</p><p><em>This is all shaping up to be more complicated than I thought it’d be</em>.</p><p>By the time she was finally stumbling into the cool, dark interior of her house, she was sweaty from exertion and the August heat. She still wasn’t used to being out of the house for long periods of time, so she nervously checked the locks on the front and back doors before heading to the room to make sure the hard drive was still safe in its hiding spot.</p><p><em>Yep, still here</em>.</p><p>Suddenly too tired to hoist herself up from the ground, she lay down on her back on the cool, creaky hardwood floor next to the hard drive and pulled her phone up to check the news. Still nothing of import.</p><p><em>No news is good news, </em>she repeated to herself, watching the blades of the ceiling fan spin until her eyes started to blur and she dozed off right there on the floor.</p><p>She startled awake from a nightmare an hour later, hands outstretched and lungs constricting. Gasping for breath, she shoved aside the wispy memories of dark roads, men with assault rifles across their backs, men in suits watching her from down long, sterile hallways. Nightmares were so routine with her, she thought the waking moment would get easier over time, less horrible. But it never did.</p><p>Sometime in her sleep, she must have grabbed the hard drive, because she woke with it clutched to her chest. Now she gently released it from her cramped, sweaty fingers back into its hiding spot and tucked the loose floorboard over it.</p><p>Lying on her back in the now-darkening room, listening to her own gasping breaths slowly recede to a normal pace, she found herself thinking absentmindedly that Kelley was probably finished decorating her room by now. Maybe she was with Julie right now, getting coffee at Moe’s. Maybe Moe would be around to hang out, and maybe Tobin would stroll by, on the way to work, and would stop at the table to chat—</p><p><em>Don’t even think about it</em>, Christen’s brain scolded before her heart even had a chance to fully conjure up a wistful thought of joining them.</p><p>Wincing in pain, she pushed herself to her feet and hobbled down the hallway to fix herself dinner for one.</p><hr/><p>On Sunday, Christen found herself crutching down the sidewalk towards Kelley’s house at quarter to five.</p><p>Every day that week, she and Kelley had worked in their adjacent classrooms, getting ready for the schoolyear. On the first day, when Kelley asked her if she wanted to grab lunch together, she’d panicked and said no, firmly. (And then she’d eaten forlornly at her desk, sneaking peeks out the window to where Kelley and some other teachers were sitting together at a picnic table, laughing up a storm.)</p><p>The second day, when Kelley was kind and patient enough to actually ask Christen again, she’d said yes. <em>Just for collegiality’s sake, of course</em>, she reminded herself. <em>Just because I could use a coworker on my side</em>. Then she said yes to lunch again on the third day, and then the fourth.</p><p>She liked Kelley, she realized. And to her own surprise, she found herself hoping that Kelley liked her back. She prayed she wasn’t being too awkward and stilted, but luckily, Kelley was a breeze to hang out with. Perhaps forewarned by Tobin, she never asked Christen any questions about her past or her background or how she was holding up. Christen helped that trend along, turning the conversation back towards Kelley at every opportunity, asking questions about her upbringing in Barberry Stone, her siblings, her teaching. Kelley lit up at every inquiry, and chattered a mile a minute, filling Christen in on her background and family, and the gossip amongst the students, amongst the teachers, and amongst all the residents of Barberry Stone. By the end of the week, Christen could almost recite back to Kelley which student couples were rumored to have broken up over the summer, which town councilmember was planning on running for mayor, which teachers were especially miffed that they hadn’t been the one promoted to principal to take Pia’s place.</p><p>And every day when they parted ways at the end of their lunch, Christen found herself surprised and strangely grateful that Kelley was taking the time and initiative to hang out with her strange, socially awkward colleague.</p><p><em>It’s different from Tobin</em>, she argued to herself, <em>in many ways. First, Kelley is a coworker, and you’ll have to see her and talk to her all the time, so it makes sense that you guys would be friends. Second, she maintains polite boundaries and doesn’t pry. Third, </em>(she had to admit to herself)<em>, you don’t lose total control over your thoughts and actions like you do around Tobin, so Kelley is safer for you to hang out with.</em></p><p>Christen had also made a couple more trips with Kelley and some of the older teachers to visit Pia in the Salem hospital. She realized that was another benefit of getting closer to the teachers' crowd: a reliable, alternate method of visiting Pia, without having to rely on Tobin. These trips were very different from the first, with multiple teachers crowding around the bed and talking over each other to share local town gossip. As their group was leaving the room at the end of one visit, Christen could've sworn she saw Tobin at the end of the long hospital hallway. And was she with that blonde woman again? But then Christen had turned to laugh at some joke Kelley made, and when she turned back, both the figures were gone. </p><p>By Sunday, she’d finally decided that it would be harmless to go to the welcome party at Kelley’s place. Kelley had brought it up, hopefully, a couple more times over the course of the week. She'd gotten to know the teachers a little better on their Salem trips. Plus, Christen figured she didn’t want to be seen by the other teachers as stand-offish, or as someone who didn’t respect their annual teacher traditions.</p><p>Google Maps informed her that Kelley’s house was just a ten minute walk from hers, and she allocated twenty minutes just in case. But when she arrived at the address Kelley had texted, a few minutes before 5 PM, she paused on the sidewalk.</p><p>She surveyed the cute little house, the street around it.</p><p>There were no other cars.</p><p>The front door was closed, and the windows dark. </p><p>Kelley had texted that it was going to be a barbecue, but there was no noise from the backyard.</p><p>A burning anxiety started to grip her. Should she leave? Did she have the wrong house? What if she’d gotten the time or date wrong—she grabbed her phone out of her pocket to check, but the latest text from Kelley informed her that she was in the right place at the right time. Or worse, what if it was all an elaborate prank and there was no party to begin with? <em>Don’t be ridiculous,</em> y<em>ou’re probably just the first one here</em>, she rationalized, but the anxiety kept rising and rising like a wave about to crash down on her head.  </p><p>For a fleeting moment, she considered turning on her heel and heading home.</p><p>But then, suddenly, the front door swung open, and Kelley popped her head out. “Christen!” she yelled, planting her feet far apart and throwing her hands in the air, as if she’d just scored a touchdown. “You made it!”</p><p>“I made it!” Christen echoed. Her knees went weak with relief as Kelley’s enthusiasm dispersed a bit of her anxiety.</p><p>“Alex said she thought someone was standing on the sidewalk looking at my house, but I was like, who would be here so early?” Kelley chattered on, beckoning Christen in.</p><p>“Oh, sorry, I—am I early? Sorry, I thought you said 5,” Christen said awkwardly. As they entered the house, she realized that nobody else was there. And nothing looked set-up yet.</p><p>“I mean, I did, but people don’t really tend to show up exactly at the stated time, you know?” Kelley said, casting a curious look over at Christen.</p><p>
  <em>Shit, people don’t? Is that some unspoken party rule? I feel like that was never in the movies… </em>
</p><p>“But it’s great that you’re punctual! It’s just that I’m not adult enough to have everything ready on time,” Kelley added hastily. “Alex is here to help set up, but since you are a guest of honor, you should make yourself comfortable! Do you want anything to drink?”</p><p>“Water would be fine.” Christen glanced around Kelley’s cozy little house. In the living room, three huge, puffy, mismatched couches sat around an enormous flatscreen TV, which was currently on an old sitcom re-run.</p><p>"Water?" Kelley raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Okay fine, I'll let you start slow for now, but I expect you to start drinking some real grown-up drinks when everyone else gets here."</p><p>"Okay, fine," Christen couldn't help but grin, goaded into agreement. "I suppose I can start with whiskey, if you have any."</p><p>"Ooh, classy lady," Kelley teased. "You're just like Alex, she also loves whiskey. ALEX!” Kelley hollered towards no direction in particular. Christen winced. “Come meet Christen, our new friend! And bring whiskey!”</p><p>From around the corner, a stunningly beautiful, blue-eyed girl emerged. Whoa, she had not been around the school this week, or Christen definitely would not have noticed. <em>What is with all the pretty girls in this town? Tobin, Julie, Alex…is this some sort of rural supermodel hideout?</em></p><p>“So you’re Kristen Channing? Hi, I’m Alex,” the girl said, setting down the armful of vegetables she was holding and putting her hand out for a shake. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”</p><p><em>Shit</em>. “Oh, um, really?”</p><p>“Yeah, you know how Kelley never stops talking,” Alex teased, nudging Kelley lightly with her elbow.</p><p>“Hey, <em>I’m</em> not the one who told you about—<em>ow!</em>” Alex’s elbow landed harder on Kelley’s ribs this time, cutting off her sentence.</p><p>As Christen looked between them in confusion, Alex jumped in smoothly. “I was sorry to hear about the accident. Hope everything’s healing okay.”</p><p>“Thanks. I already feel much better than I did a few weeks ago,” Christen said. She appreciated Alex’s smooth, calm demeanor, the way she eased right into polite small talk in an almost businesslike manner. This, Christen could handle.</p><p>“Ali can give you an impromptu check-up when she gets here!” Kelley added.</p><p>“Ali Krieger?” <em>Isn’t this supposed to be a teachers’ party?</em> “Is…she a teacher at the high school?”</p><p>“Oh, no, this thing just kind of spirals out into more of a general party! Not a lot of the older teachers come, and all our other friends come. Alex here isn’t a teacher either, but she comes every year, don’t you Al?”</p><p>“Only because I’m a good friend and nobody else wants to come early to help you set up,” Alex teased. “Speaking of which, we should get these veggies on the grill out back. But let's get Christen something to drink first!”</p><p>Christen accepted a glass of whiskey from Alex and obeyed as Kelley insisted that Christen stay on the couch to rest her ankle. As Kelley and Alex bustled around getting things ready, Christen fiddled awkwardly with the hem of her cropped white t-shirt and processed this new turn of events.</p><p>So this wasn’t even a real, official teachers’ party. Great. <em>If I hadn’t come, maybe people really wouldn’t even have noticed. </em></p><p>And…her stomach turned as she realized, <em>if all their other friends like Ali and Alex are coming, Tobin’s definitely going to be here</em>.</p><p>Christen was busy brainstorming ways she could excuse herself early from the party when a commercial on the TV screen grabbed her attention. A catchy summer pop song roared in the background as a teenage girl twirled down a city sidewalk with an enormous, glimmering gold cell phone in her hand. She handed off the phone to a man she passed, and it turned silver in his hands as he carried it into a nightclub, and then to rose gold as he tossed it to an elderly woman who put it to her ear as she used it to call her grandchildren—<em>all new,</em> <em>coming soon</em>, the commercial was promising—</p><p>“Christen. Christen?”</p><p>Christen jolted upright. Alyssa was standing over the couch, looking down at her with a quizzical expression.</p><p>“Oh, hi, Alyssa!” Christen exclaimed. “Sorry, just zoned out for a second…”</p><p>“No worries.” Alyssa plopped down on an adjacent couch, and they both glanced back towards the TV. They’d missed the end of the commercial; the screen was now showing some auto insurance ad. “It’s nice to see you. I’m usually always the first ones to Kelley’s party. Glad someone else got here early like I did.”</p><p>Christen snuck a discreet glance at the wall clock. <em>Okay, so fifteen minutes past the official start time is still considered “early.” Must remember for next time</em>.</p><p>Over the past week, as they had started afternoon soccer practices in earnest, Christen had grown to appreciate Alyssa. She liked her stoicism and her calm. The days spent under the sweltering sun were Christen’s ideal set-up: the girls were sweet and earnest, and Christen and Alyssa spent most of their time perched on a bench on the sideline, talking soccer strategy as the kids ran drills. Just the right amount of impersonal human interaction, all in a highly professional context. Perfect.</p><p>Two hours into the party, the house and backyard were packed. Despite her nervousness—and her cluelessness as to how parties worked in the real world—Christen actually found herself enjoying the festivities. For starters, Tobin never showed up. Ali had given Christen a huge hug when she arrived, but Christen had quickly lost her in the crowd. She spied her a little while later, cuddled up close to a tall, tattooed blonde, but Christen felt too uncomfortable to introduce herself to a stranger.</p><p>As the living room got more and more crowded, Alyssa and Christen escaped to a quiet corner of the backyard with their drinks and potato salad. Christen helped Alyssa with the crossword she was working on, and they got to appreciate the antics around the grill from a safe distance.</p><p>“You’re getting all the gross meat juice on the non-meat side of the grill!” Alex kept whining, as the blonde woman with Ali hooted with laughter and kept stacking the grill with ribs. Meanwhile, Kelley raced around with a Bud in either hand, trying (and succeeding) to get people to drink them with her.</p><p>“What are they doing?” Christen asked, the first time she saw Kelley and a woman with pink hair fumbling around with keys, as if they were going to pierce the beer cans with them.</p><p>“They’re shotgunning the beers. You haven’t seen this before?” Alyssa’s expressions were so calm that Christen couldn’t tell if she was shocked or not. “Just watch.”</p><p>Christen stared in amazement as Kelley and the pink-haired woman—Christen had heard someone call her Pinoe earlier—used the keys to punch holes near the bottom of the can, popped the tabs simultaneously, and chugged the entire beers through the punched holes, as everyone in the yard whooped and cheered for them.</p><p>“So, what do you think?”</p><p>Christen wrinkled her nose. “I suppose I understand the concept. But keys are so germ-infested. They should’ve used a kitchen knife.”</p><p>Alyssa actually laughed out loud. “Christen, you’re a funny one. Weird, but funny.”</p><p>Kelley did eventually come to their corner and to try (and fail) to get both of them to shotgun a beer with her. Christen begged to stick to her whiskey, but then Kelley convinced her and Alyssa to take a few more shots of it than they otherwise would have. By sunset, Christen was feeling a little rosy and light, just the way she liked.</p><p><em>Best of all</em>, Christen thought to herself, <em>Tobin isn't coming</em>. Earlier, she’d heard Kelley tug on Alex’s shirtsleeve and bellow, “Hey, have you heard from Tobes? She was supposed to be here hours ago!” Alex had just shrugged, and Christen wondered if she’d imagined that Alex’s glance flickered towards Christen for just a moment.</p><p>When dusk startled to settle, the party only seemed to get more and more crowded as people migrated into the house. People who were just getting off work started to trickle in, as well. To great fanfare, Morgan showed up with snack reinforcements from the store, complaining about having to finish out her shift while everyone else was partying.</p><p>Christen was just emerging from a trip to the bathroom, leaning on her crutch and wondering if she should head out soon, when she heard Kelley shouting her name from the dining room. “Christen! Chris, get over here!”</p><p>Nervous to be caught out of her backyard corner with Alyssa, Christen headed hesitantly towards the hubbub. People were crowded around a long table full of red cups.</p><p>“Hi, Kelley,” Christen said uncertainly as she approached.</p><p>Kelley drunkenly flung her arms around Christen and smacked an affectionate kiss on her cheek. “Everyone, this is Kristen Channing!” She announced, and Christen wanted to die under all the curious gazes around her. “Christen is new in town and she’s the best, so everyone needs to be extra nice to her tonight, okay? Christen, you can be my partner, since Alex just ditched to take a call from Serv.”</p><p>“Partner for what?”</p><p>Kelley spread her arms at the display in front of them. “For beer pong!”</p><p>“I…” Christen surveyed the strange set-up. <em>Aren’t these drinking games for little kids?</em> <em>Beer pong? Like ping pong?</em> She didn’t see any paddles. “I don’t know the rules.”</p><p>A sudden silence filled the room.</p><p>
  <em>Was that a weird thing to admit?</em>
</p><p>“You don’t know the rules? Of beer pong?!” Kelley exploded.</p><p>
  <em>Shit, guess it was.</em>
</p><p>Christen didn’t know where to look, around the ring of shocked faces gaping at her. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears as she scrambled to backtrack. “Uh, I mean, I think I know them? I think I’ve seen people play?”</p><p>“No way,” Kelley said, eyes round.</p><p>“Dude, did you even go to college?” Pinoe was laughing. Everyone was laughing. Everyone was laughing at her.</p><p>The cackles rang loudly in Christen’s ears, and she felt sweaty and lightheaded. Desperate to escape the situation, she took a stumbling step back from the edge of the table.</p><p>A gentle hand caught her in the small of her back, steadying her for a fleeting second before vanishing.</p><p>“College isn’t for everyone, Pinoe, so don’t be an ass.”</p><p>Christen whirled around. Out of nowhere, Tobin had appeared next to her, staring Pinoe down. The tone of her voice was mild, but authoritative, leaving no room for discussion.</p><p>“I mean, no—obviously, I wasn’t implying that everyone <em>has</em> to go to college—” Pinoe flushed red, sputtering in protest.</p><p>“Tooooobes, did you just get here?! I thought you weren’t coming! You’re hours late!” Kelley shrieked, clinging to Tobin’s torso like a little koala. “And did you bring more ice?”</p><p>Tobin held up an enormous sack of ice with one flexing arm. “Ta-da. Where do you want this?”</p><p>“Over here!” Kelley dragged Tobin into the kitchen, pulling half the party along with them as people crowded around Tobin. Taking advantage of the shift of the commotion to the kitchen, Christen made a quick escape out the back door into the cool, calm quiet of the yard. A long, relieved sigh escaped her as she plopped into her original seat beside Alyssa.</p><p>(She tried not to be disappointed that Tobin hadn’t even glanced her way once, although the spot on her lower back where Tobin had touched her for a second was still tingling.)</p><p>“Sounds like they tried to rope you into beer pong?” Alyssa raised an eyebrow at her. “You’re lucky you got out of it. Kelley’s got terrible aim when she’s this drunk; you guys would’ve lost for sure.”</p><p>“Yeah, lucky me,” Christen muttered. If even Alyssa, the type of person who sat alone and did crosswords at parties, knew what beer pong was, that confirmed that Christen had definitely just humiliated herself by not knowing. She added a note to her mental checklist: <em>Google the rules of beer pong immediately</em> <em>after you get home</em>. Who knew it would be little stuff like this that would end up tripping her up the most?</p><p>Alyssa stood up and stretched. “It’s been a long night; I think I’m going to call it and start walking home. You?”</p><p>“Uh, no, I think I’ll stay a little while longer.” If they were walking in the same direction, it would be painfully awkward to make Alyssa politely snail-walk beside her for who-knows-how-long. But if she strategically staggered her exit five minutes after Alyssa’s, then she’d avoid that problem altogether. “Thanks, though. Today was fun.”</p><p>Alyssa strode inside to say her goodbyes, leaving Christen alone in the backyard. Her eyes followed Alyssa’s silhouette as it joined all the others inside the well-lit house. Through the large kitchen windows, Christen spotted Tobin, pouring herself a drink at the counter with Kelley on one side of her and Alex on the other, all three of them huddled up and laughing at something together. She hadn’t seen Tobin since the night of their fight, and from this safe distance, she drank in the sight of her as if she was parched: the beachy waves of Tobin’s hair over her shoulder, the tanned shoulders under the wide black straps of her tank top, the big, infectious grin on her face. Her eyes traced the path as Tobin disappeared from the crowd by the kitchen window and re-emerged, alone, visible through the sliding glass doors of the dining room. Tobin stood in the now-deserted dining room for a moment, head swiveling from side to side, as if she was—</p><p>
  <em>Get a grip, Christen. She’s not looking for you. Not after how you treated her the last time you saw each other.</em>
</p><p>As several people swarmed around Tobin again like bees to their queen, Christen tore her gaze away from the scene inside. She closed her eyes and stretched her legs out in front of her as she waited for Alyssa to finish up her goodbyes and leave. The whisk of the gentle night breeze through her hair, and the hum of crickets all around her, and the distant chatter of party guests, all lulled Christen into an unusually mellow state.</p><p>It reminded her of home, she realized. Of soft California summer nights, the sun setting in a blaze of reds and golds over the ocean. Of the far-off murmur of adult voices when her parents had guests over, and the dignified clinking of wine glasses and teacups that always accompanied the talk. Of running through the hedges in the backyard as a little girl, playing hide-and-seek with her dad.</p><p>She hated to admit it, after all the effort it’d taken for her to get away—but in a way, she missed it.</p><p>“Hey, Christen!”</p><p>Christen startled from her reverie when she heard the screen door slam. Kelley, red solo cup in hand, was stumbling out into the backyard.</p><p>“There you are!” Kelley skipped across the yard (definitely losing some of her beer in the process). She tugged Alyssa’s vacated lawn chair closer to Christen and plopped down so they were sitting close together, legs almost touching. “How are you…<em>sooo</em> sober? You’ve been drinking like I have. It’s not fair!”</p><p>“Sorry,” Christen giggled. She couldn’t help but feel a little smug—at least that was one thing she didn’t seem to be having a problem with, socially. All those years of whiskey tastings with her dad were serving her well. “You have to admit, though, you’ve been drinking a lot more than I have.”</p><p>“Have I? By a lot?” Kelley squinted absentmindedly into her own cup. “Hey, listen,” she added, turning to Christen with suddenly serious eyes. “I’m really sorry about beer pong. I didn’t mean to make you feel like you had to know the rules.”</p><p>“Oh, that’s totally okay,” Christen said quickly. “Honestly, we never have to bring it up again.”</p><p>“Well, still, I feel bad. And I’m sure Pinoe does too. Tobin’s currently giving her an earful.”</p><p>“Ugh, really?” Christen groaned and tipped her head back. <em>Fantastic. More people talking about it, just what I need</em>. “Tobin really doesn’t have to do that. I don’t want it to be a big deal.”</p><p>“Well, Tobin’s got a bit of a warrior streak,” Kelley rolled her eyes. “She just likes to see things done right, you know? And plus, it wasn’t just you, it was Pinoe’s college comment. Tobin has this thing about college.”</p><p>Christen was just drunk enough to pry without feeling too guilty. “Did she not go? From her comment in there, it sounded like she didn’t.”</p><p>Kelley wrinkled her nose. “She did go to college…kind of. It’s a long story. I don’t think she’s told many people, to be honest. She doesn’t like all the pity. But she might tell you sometime!”</p><p><em>Pity, huh? So it’s a sad story</em>. Christen filed that tidbit away and let out a mirthless chuckle. “I doubt I’m near the top of the list of people she’s planning on confiding in.”</p><p>“I don’t know…I wouldn’t count yourself out just yet.” Kelley took a long swig of her beer. Her words were coming out a little unsteady. “Even after last week.”</p><p>Christen glanced over to see Kelley’s round hazel eyes peering curiously at her from over the rim of the solo cup.</p><p>“Last week?” Christen heard the pitch of her own voice skyrocket suspiciously high. “Uh, what do you mean?”</p><p>“Okay, I just gotta…I’m gonna…I want to ask you something.” With a great amount of concentration, Kelley placed her cup on the grass and leaned over to grab both of Christen’s hands in her hot, beer-sticky fingers. (Christen fought to resist the urge to pull away.) “Listen. I know we like, sort of just met, but so far I like you a lot, and I think you’re super cool. We’re friends, right? And Tobin, she’s Tobin, so of course she’s cool too. I really thought you guys were going to hit it off. So like, can you tell me what happened last week? Because Tobin’s been kind of…off.”</p><p>“Off…what do you mean by that?” Christen asked, antsy. “Did she say anything?”</p><p>Kelly gave an exaggerated shrug and pouted, still keeping Christen’s hands grasped firmly in her own. “She didn’t say a lot. She just showed up at my house one night after she was with you, and she was like, all sad and stuff even though she didn’t want to admit it. I asked her if she wanted to talk, but she just kind of lay around on my couch for a while and looked all gloomy. The only thing I could get out of her was that she came on too strong and scared you off. Like you thought people were expecting something out of you, or something like that.” Kelley narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Which doesn’t sound to me like Tobin, but then again, sometimes she’s really dumb. Did she say anything bad to you?”</p><p>Christen took a deep breath, staring down at their interlaced fingers. She didn’t even know if Kelley would remember any of this conversation in the morning. (Peering into the other girl’s glazed-over eyes, she seriously doubted it.)</p><p>And so she let herself be a little more honest than she otherwise would’ve been.</p><p>“She didn’t do anything wrong at all. Listen, I really enjoyed hanging out with her that day.” Christen couldn’t help but smile a little. “But it was just…a lot, you know? I’m not used to spending that much time with new people, or talking about my feelings the way she was asking me to. The way I grew up, I had to take care of a lot of things on my own, so relying on other people and opening up to other people makes me pretty uncomfortable.”</p><p>“I get that,” Kelley said solemnly, eyes round.</p><p>“So…I might’ve asked her to back off a little,” Christen finished. “and not in the nicest tone. I do feel bad about the way it went down.”</p><p>“But are you like, mad at her?”</p><p>“No, I’m not mad. Like I said, she didn’t do anything wrong.”</p><p>“So would you say that it was just a misunderstanding, and that you would maybe like, want to hang out with her more? Because I’m just saying,” Kelley leaned forward with a sneaky grin on her face, “it’s unusual for Tobin to take this much of an interest in someone and have it, y’know, not be reciprocated.”</p><p>“What?” Christen jerked back in surprise, yanking her fingers from Kelley’s.</p><p>“Kel, stop staying stupid shit.” The screen door clattered loudly against the frame again as Alex emerged. The slightly alarmed warning look she was giving Kelley made clear that she had heard the last few sentences. (Christen wondered how much she’d heard; if she’d been listening in on what Christen had said.)</p><p>“Okay, okay, calm down, I’m not going to say anything bad,” Kelley grumbled. She picked up her solo cup from the ground and brandished it at Alex, sloshing beer over her wrist in the process. “Hey, you’re not even drinking, you pooper…party…party poop.”</p><p>“I had a little, earlier!” Alex said defensively, perching on the arm of Kelley’s chair. “I’m driving some of these drunk losers home, remember? I swear if any of them vomit in my car, I’m sending you the bill.”</p><p>Christen tuned out their bickering. Her heart was still racing at Kelley’s words. <em>“Take an interest in someone”? What does that even mean? Like I’m the new girl in town that she wants to take on as a charity project? Or like…</em></p><p>Though the thought was terrifying, she ached to hear more. She couldn’t stop the urge. Even if it was dangerous territory, even if she had just tried to distance herself from the girl as much as possible last week…anything Kelley and Alex wanted to say about Tobin, she wanted to them to say it. She wanted to hear and talk about anything to do with Tobin. It felt like the start of a dangerous addiction.</p><p>As if reading her mind, Kelley leaned forward again, elbows on knees, eyes gleaming. “Well, anyway, where were we before Alex interrupted? If it helps, Christen, Tobin’s not mad at you. Tobin is a good person. Like, really good. The nicest. Right Alex?”</p><p>“Right…” Alex said cautiously. Her posture was still tense, like she was getting ready to tackle Kelley if the slightest whisper of a dangerous sentence came out of her mouth.</p><p>Kelley nodded in satisfaction. “So Christen, whatever happens, promise me you’ll go easy on her, okay?”</p><p>Christen worked her fingers nervously around her glass, trying to formulate a diplomatic answer. Slowly, she said, “I’m not entirely sure what you mean, but I think that maybe the best way for me to go easy on her is for both of us to keep our distance.”</p><p>Kelley looked crestfallen. “But <em>that’s</em> not going easy on her! And that’s not what she wants—”</p><p>“Kelley!” Alex interrupted, laying a firm hand on her friend’s shoulder. “All right, I think it’s time for you to head on inside.”</p><p>“But I want to talk to Christen because she's the best—”</p><p>“You’re out of beer.”</p><p>“Hmm.” Temporarily distracted by this important priority, Kelley peered down into her empty cup. “Okay, I suppose…that is true. I will go and…get some more!”</p><p>Alex folded her arms and watched as Kelley stumbled back towards the house. Christen thought that Alex was going to follow her inside, but instead, she just settled into Kelley’s vacated chair and pulled her phone out. “Just a second,” she said to Christen without looking over. “I’m just going to text the girls inside to warn them not to give her any more.”</p><p>“Hopefully taking one look at her will be enough of a warning,” Christen noted wryly, watching in amusement as Kelley took quite a bit of time to figure out how to get the back door open.</p><p>“I mean, one would hope, right? But with these morons, who knows,” Alex muttered. Christen glanced over as the other girl’s iPhone beeped, sending the text out. Alex slipped the phone back into her pocket.</p><p>“So, sorry about that. Kelley talks too much when she’s drunk,” Alex said. Her tone of voice was light and easy, but there was an authoritative sternness behind her eyes that made Christen a little nervous. Though Christen had only spent a few hours around her, Alex seemed like a calculated person. If she was electing to stay out here in the dark with a stranger like Christen, while the party raged indoors, it must be for a reason. “Her advocacy might be a little…unorthodox. But her heart’s in the right place. We can all get a little protective of Tobin.”</p><p>“Um…” Christen struggled to find the right response. She felt like Alex was waiting for her to say something, but she wasn’t sure what. To be honest, Christen was dying to know more about what Tobin thought of her—she felt literally, physically hungry for the knowledge—but she knew it wasn’t her place to ask.</p><p>“Kelley’s…a good friend,” Christen finally settled on. She felt lame, but couldn’t resist prying a tiny bit more. “But I guess I’m a little confused about the whole exchange. What was Kelley trying to say? Does she just want me to apologize to Tobin?”</p><p>Alex tilted her head to the side, studying Christen curiously. “Maybe this isn’t my place to say…but Tobin has seemed a bit down this week. And without taking sides or placing blame, I think Kelley just wanted to make sure that whatever happened there doesn’t happen again. I don’t know what went down, but if Tobin made you uncomfortable, and that's on her. But if you're worried about any ulterior motives on Tobin's part, you shouldn't be. Kelley’s right: Tobin is a good soul. Like actually—her worst nightmare is people feeling like they owe her anything. So if there was some kind of misunderstanding, I think you could bounce back from it.”</p><p>“Um, that is…good to know.” Christen kept her eyes fixed stubbornly on her hands, hoping she seemed as cool and calm as Alex. Honestly, she was still a little skeptical that anyone like that existed. (Except for Pia, maybe.) And even if it were true, no matter what sorts of praise Kelley and Alex lavished on Tobin, nothing they said could get Christen to hang out with her again. It was just too dangerous. “It wasn’t a great day for either of us, but no hard feelings. Like I said to Kelley, I think the best course of action would be for Tobin and me to see less of each other. That’s all.”</p><p>(That was a lie, of course. Tobin had been great that day, and Christen had been horrible.)</p><p>“Hey, you do you, Christen. And I'm not just saying that, I really mean it.” Alex rose gracefully from the chair with a serious expression on her face. “We’re all adults here; don’t let Kelley or any of the rest us pressure you into doing something you don’t want to do. If you’re not interested in being friends with Tobin, that’s your prerogative.”</p><p>Christen just shrugged and stared fretfully down at her hands, not trusting her own voice. She was afraid that if she opened her mouth, the first thing to tumble out would be: <em>I’m interested! I’m very interested! </em></p><p>Alex stared down at Christen’s for just a beat longer, then added softly, almost as if trying to convince herself, “Tobin’s a big girl, she’ll get over it.”</p><p>As Alex turned away, Christen finally couldn’t hold back. “Um…get over what?”</p><p>This time, it was Alex’s turn to not respond. She looked over her shoulder at Christen and arched one eyebrow disbelievingly. Then, with a shake of her head and a strange smile, she headed towards the house and vanished through the screen door, leaving Christen alone in the stillness of the backyard again.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi everyone! </p><p>I did a thing where I tried to write one chapter and then realized, as it was verging on 15,000 words, that it was not going to work as one chapter. So here's a first shorter chapter, with the next one probably coming very very soon. (Sorry, I know I said to some of you in the comments that there would be a Big Reveal Moment in this chapter. Very very soon, I promise!) </p><p>Progress has been a little slow, because in my total brilliance, I decided to write a dark story about dark things in dark times, which has not been an uplifting exercise to say the least. But I'm happy you're all still here, because if you're still reading, it's still worth writing! Yay readers! </p><p>Hope you are all taking care of yourselves and staying as well as you can.</p><p>&lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Three days down…a trillion to go.” Kelley collapsed face down onto the sofa in the teachers’ lounge, eliciting chuckles from the exhausted teachers milling around. “Chrissy, how ya feeling?”</p><p>“I can’t believe it’s only been three days.” Christen beelined for the coffee machine and poured herself a generous paper cup. She’d finally gotten the arm sling off the day before, and it felt incredible to have two hands again. One to hold a cup, and the other to pour something into a cup? Such luxury!</p><p>She was brought back down to earth the instant that she took a sip. She grimaced as it went down—this was <em>not </em>good coffee.</p><p>Still, even as she tried to surreptitiously dump the rest of her coffee down the sink, she found herself smiling to herself. The first day Kelley had dragged her in into the teacher’s lounge, Christen couldn’t believe her eyes. The sofas were mismatched and ragged, the coffee machine was stained, and the microwave that was so old that the numerals had been rubbed off of the buttons. Even more shocking was the fact that when they entered the room, Kelley had kicked off her shoes and laid down on across a sofa for a nap. <em>This is a professional workplace?!</em></p><p>But just a few interminably long days later, she looked around the room and all she felt was comfort and relief. The lounge had quickly become a place of solace: a place to escape between classes, to listen to the other teachers giggle and gossip, to take a long, deep breath and steel herself to enter the classroom again.</p><p>And now it was finally Friday, just after the last bell. Kelley had corralled Christen from her classroom and dragged her to the lounge to commiserate. “So, week one is over and done!” Kelley lifted an imaginary glass in Christen’s direction. “What’s your verdict?”</p><p>Christen felt the eyes of all the other teachers in the room on her, curious about how she was doing, as the “new kid” of the teachers.</p><p>“I think…okay?” She said hesitantly. “The kids are nice.”</p><p>Honestly, on Wednesday, the first day of classes, she had been incredibly nervous.  At the beginning of first period, looking out at the sea of inquisitive young faces turned curiously toward her, she was convinced that she was about to throw up. Luckily, nothing of the sort happened. All the kids so far had been sweet and funny and well-behaved. Something about the way they all laughed when she tried to make lame jokes (even if it was only out of pity), and took studious notes every time she wrote on the board, warmed her heart.</p><p>“It’s not easy having the classroom across from yours, Kelley,” Christen added teasingly, deftly turning the topic of conversation away from herself. “It makes me feel so boring.”</p><p>All the teachers listening in started to laugh. The sounds emanating from Kelley’s classroom constantly sounded like there was either a dance party going on in the room, or a stand-up comedy show, or both at once.</p><p>“I taught history next to Kelley last year, and it was the worst,” a male teacher piped up. His name was on the tip of Christen’s tongue—she thought she remembered him also being the football coach. “All day long my kids would just complain, “Why don’t we listen to music in class? Why don’t we play more games?” It was the worst.”</p><p>“Shut up, Zach!” Kelley flipped over so she was lying on her back. “I teach math. Math! The kids come in just SO ready to hate me, and I have to make it work somehow. So stop whining.”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah,” Zach grumbled good-naturedly, crumpling up an empty potato chip bag and tossing it at her before heading out of the room. Christen giggled. She glanced over to where Kelley had her calves hoisted up onto the arm of the sofa. <em>I guess when you’re not fighting for the next big promotion, you’re inclined to be friendlier with each other</em>. She liked it. A lot. </p><p>Kelley glanced up at Christen with a grin. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’ve heard through the grapevine that the kids are loving you!”</p><p>“Do they? Really?” Christen tried to look smooth and unruffled, but inside, she was freaking out. “It’s hard to tell…”</p><p>“Yeah, I’ve overheard them saying that you’re nice and fair and you really know what you’re doing,” Kelley said approvingly, and Christen was gratified to see that some of the teachers around the room were nodding in agreement. “Kids can smell incompetence from a mile away, so that’s a real compliment. You must have prior teaching experience, right?”  </p><p>“Um…yes,” Christen lied. <em>If you interpret “teaching experience” very broadly. As in…having experience being in the same room as teaching. Also known as, being taught by other people</em>.  </p><p>“Coach!” A voice shrieked suddenly from the door.</p><p>“Well, well, well…if it isn’t Coach Channing’s fan club,” Kelley muttered with a smirk.</p><p>Before she could stop herself, a beam spread across Christen’s face.</p><p>She already knew, before she even turned her head, what she was going to see. And sure enough, the soccer girls were there at the doorway. Sonny was in front, looking like she was about to barge into the teacher’s lounge. Lindsey and Rose were hanging eagerly over her shoulders, bouncing on their toes.</p><p>“Coach!” Sonny repeated at a near-shout. “Coach, I heard from Lindsay that you’re not planning on going to the Labor Day festival next weekend? You have to go!”</p><p>“I…” Christen looked over Sonny’s shoulder to see big puppy-dog pouts on Lindsey and Rose’s faces. When Lindsay had mentioned the town festival in class on Thursday, Christen had mentioned that she probably wasn’t going to attend. Apparently, word had spread. “I…nope, I wasn’t planning on it.”</p><p>“Please can you go, Coach? Please, please, please,” Rose begged, poking her head out from behind Sonny. “It’s so much fun every year! It won’t be as fun without you there. I’ll bring my dog, Wilma, she’s really been wanting to meet you!”</p><p>“I’ll think about it,” Christen hedged. She wanted to make the girls happy, but the thought of being around so many people filled her with something like dread. </p><p>“What if we place a bet?” Lindsey added eagerly. “If we win our season opener tomorrow against Sheffield, will you go?”</p><p>“That’s not a very smart bet, Lindsey; do you want me to coach you so we lose?” Christen deadpanned.</p><p>Sonny and Rose both started shrieking at Lindsey at the same time, and Kelley burst into laughter. “Dang, Channing, you’re a tough sell,” she shook her head in amusement as she sat up on the couch and put her heels back on. “Jokes aside, though, you really should come. It’s always fun.”</p><p>“Yeah, listen to Ms. O’Hara!” Rose begged. </p><p>“I’ll think about it,” Christen said again, firmly, checking her watch. “Although I can guarantee that if you guys aren’t running laps by the time I get up to the field, it’ll definitely be a no.”</p><p>The girls yelped and sprinted away in the direction of the locker room.</p><p>“Christen, Christen, Christen,” Kelley said, an amused grin twitching at the corner of her mouth. “You know, if I weren’t so impressed, I’d be jealous.”</p><p>The other teachers in the room were looking on with knowing expressions.</p><p>“Jealous? Of what?” Christen blushed. “All the students love you, Kelley. There’s nothing to be jealous of.”</p><p>“Um, hello!” Kelley gestured in the direction where the girls had run off. “Already stealing my Popular Teacher crown, and hanging it over the kids’ heads to boot!”</p><p>“Stop, nobody’s stealing your Popular Teacher crown,” Christen grinned and shoved Kelley away from her affectionately. “And I’m not going to this festival. Festivals aren’t my thing.”</p><p>“We’ll see about that,” Kelley retorted, heading out of the lounge. “I think you’re underestimating how persuasive those girls can be.”</p><p>Kelley wasn’t wrong.</p><p>“Coach, Sonny said that if we win tomorrow, you’ll definitely go to the town festival next weekend!” Abby exclaimed as Christen hobbled her way up to the field, where the whole team was gathered.</p><p>Christen glanced around the circle of hopeful faces, then opened her eyes in a wide, <em>help-me</em> expression towards Alyssa, who was setting up cones out on the field for drills.</p><p>“You’re on your own, Christen,” Alyssa called, with a little snort. “I go to the festival every year.”</p><p>The girls cheered. “Traitor!” Christen yelled good-naturedly across the field. “Okay, girls. We’ll see. Maybe if we win tomorrow. <em>Maybe</em>. And if we don’t talk about it for the rest of practice today.”</p><p>“Our lips are sealed!” Sonny literally shouted at the top of her lungs as she dashed towards Alyssa, the rest of the girls drifting along behind her.</p><p>Christen felt herself grinning, in spite of herself.</p><p>Kelley hadn’t exactly been wrong about the fan club thing. Christen had been in denial for the first few days, but after a while, even she couldn’t ignore it anymore: the soccer girls were officially obsessed with their new coach.</p><p>She couldn’t believe how quickly the girls had taken to her. At first she felt awkward, maybe a little paranoid, like she wanted to duck and hide every time one of them shouted a greeting at her in the hallway. That phase took a few days to pass. Then she moved on to feeling guilty, like she hadn’t done anything to deserve their attention and admiration except…show up. She didn’t feel like an especially skilled soccer player, or experienced coach, or dutiful mentor. But they swarmed around her nevertheless, in the hallways and on the soccer fields, showering her with affection and admiration. And now? She was getting kind of used to it, and it felt really nice, to be honest. It was like she could relax around them. Like she didn’t constantly have to be fighting for their attention, fighting to be perfect.</p><p>Still, the anxiety came in waves: every night, lying alone in bed, she wondered if she was imagining things. <em>Maybe they don’t like you that much. Maybe this is just how they treat everybody</em>.</p><p>Or worse: <em>maybe they just like you for now, but one wrong move, and they’ll all start to hate you</em>.</p><p>Then she’d push the nerves down and drift off into fitful, interrupted sleep.</p><hr/><p>The nerves rose to a fever pitch the following night. Watching the girls warm up on the pitch in front of packed stands, with the sun setting in the distance, Christen was so anxious she couldn’t stand still. She seemed to recall her own youth coach standing stoically and impassively on the sidelines before every game. <em>How did he pull that off? I feel like I’m going to combust.</em></p><p>She tugged her black baseball hat lower on her head and cast her gaze across the pitch. She could see some familiar faces in the crowd. Kelley and Alex were there: Kelley with her face painted with the school colors, roaring something over the railing at the girls, Alex sitting next to her in a classy navy blazer, one leg crossed primly over the other as she checked her phone. Christen couldn’t help but giggle at the juxtaposition. She spotted Ali and her girlfriend, nearby—and next to them was Tobin, looking unfairly good in a ragged Barberry Stone High t-shirt and bright yellow shorts.</p><p>Tobin was facing her direction, and she wanted to believe that Tobin was looking at her from across the field, but from such a distance, it was hard to tell.</p><p>Then Lindsey ran up to where Tobin was sitting to chat, and Christen’s face fell. Tobin hadn’t been looking at her at all, she’d been looking at Lindsey.</p><p>“Don’t worry, the girls are going to kill it.”</p><p>Her expression must’ve been noticeably morose, because Alyssa had come up beside her. She gave Christen a comforting grin and rested a hand reassuringly on her shoulder.</p><p>“Um, thanks.” Christen took a deep breath to get herself focused and grounded, and crossed her arms to hide the fact that her fingers were actually shaking. <em>Shake it off, and stop thinking about Tobin. You’re a full grown adult—a coach. You have actual responsibilities, like, literally right now.</em> It didn’t help that the boys’ team had played their home game immediately before the girls, and had won 2-1. It’d be such a downer for everyone in the crowd if they had to sit through another two hours just to see the girls get demolished.</p><p><em>I hope if they’re mad, they don’t take it out on the girls</em>, Christen thought, staring out at the players as they finished up their drills. Somehow, she already felt incredibly protective of them. <em>Better that they take it out on me, say it was terrible coaching</em>.</p><p>“All right, huddle up!” she called, trying to keep her voice steady. (She thought she heard it crack anyway.) The girls crowded in around her for a pep talk, eyes bright and eager, before dispersing to take their positions on the field.</p><p>The whistle blew, and the girls shot off like rockets.</p><p><em>Here goes nothing</em>.</p><p>During a gritty first half, the girls played well and fiercely. They lost possession a few times on clumsy passes, but that was to be expected during the first game of the season, their connections not quite honed yet.</p><p>Christen surprised even herself at the way the game transformed her. The adrenaline of the game seemed to course through her like lightning. She backed up, she surveyed the game strategically, she paced up and down the sidelines, shouting encouragement and instructions as the girls flew by her. It was terrifying but electrifying, how the girls seemed to pivot towards her, to look to her for direction. “Sammy, keep your head up!” She hollered across the field, “Lindsey, don’t be afraid to press up into the box!”</p><p>The game was still tied at 0 at the half, and Christen gave another encouraging pep talk at the bench. And then they roared to a lead in the second half, with a beautiful curving shot from the eighteen from Lindsey in the 50<sup>th</sup> minute, and then <em>another</em> goal from Lindsey, a brilliant header, in the 84<sup>th</sup>.</p><p>The final whistle blew: 2-0, Barberry Stone High.</p><p>As the crowd roared to their feet with applause, Christen threw her hands up in the air and smiled up at the sky. <em>Mom, did you see that?!</em> The girls were screaming, laughing, barreling into each other with hugs on the field. Christen took a deep breath of the crisp night air and then—overwhelmed for a second—buried her face in her hands. In the little space of darkness in her palms, she let herself relish their victory. Christen was strict with herself when it came to happiness: but somehow, this little moment felt worth reveling in. <em>They did it. They did it! </em></p><p>And then, unexpectedly, she heard a rush of footsteps towards her, and then felt the impact as a sweaty pair of arms wrapped around her. She looked up—it was Lindsey. Lindsey, beaming from ear to ear, yelling something unintelligible. The rest of the team were just a few steps behind, and then they all piled onto her at once: Rose was there, babbling in her ear; Sonny was doing some kind of war whoop. Sam came up behind her and lifted her clear off her feet, with Andi right behind them, yelling at Sam to be careful about Christen’s ankle.</p><p>She hadn’t expected them to come celebrate with her, but here they were, all around her, embracing her. There in that tangle of sweaty, grass-stained arms and legs, Christen couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt such unbridled joy.</p><p>When the team finally extricated from each other, the girls still laughing and shouting and stumbling around, Christen heard Sonny whisper, “Now, do it now!” as Rose and Sam, giggling maniacally, scrambled off to grab something from the bench.</p><p>“Oh, brother.” Christen rolled her eyes in an attempt to look stern, but she couldn’t stop smiling. As the girls crowded in around her again, she pivoted so that her back was to the stands. She picked her hat up off the ground, where it’d fallen in all the ruckus, and planted it firmly on her head again, pulling the brim low. “What is this?!”</p><p>“Excuse me. Um, excuse me,” Sonny waved her hands to quiet the team. “As you all may know, our glorious new soccer coach, Coach Channing, has never been to THE legendary…the notorious…the Annual Barberry Stone Labor Day Festival! However, Coach Channing promised us that if we won the home opener against Sheffield High School tonight, she would agree to attend!”</p><p>“I said I would <em>think</em> about it,” Christen protested halfheartedly, but Sonny plowed on, totally ignoring her.</p><p>“Since we won, SHE’S GONNA GO!” Sonny bellowed. Sam and Rose had run back, holding something large between them. “Ahem!” Sam cleared her throat importantly, and Rose triumphantly unfurled an enormous paper banner that read, in glittery blue and white letters, COACH CHANNING, FESTIVAL?!</p><p>She heard the crowd roaring with laughter behind her.</p><p>Christen was absolutely floored. “What is this? You girls are ridiculous!” she exclaimed, her voice filled with affection (and maybe a little bit of dread. Could she really go to this festival, surrounded by hundreds of strangers?)</p><p>Lindsey stepped up to her, holding out a white t-shirt emblazoned with the words, 20<sup>th</sup> ANNUAL BARBERRY STONE LABOR DAY FESTIVAL. “Ta-da! They usually don’t hand these shirts out until the festival itself, but we had a man on the inside, so we got you one early to celebrate your impending attendance!”</p><p>“Put it on! Put it on!” Sonny started chanting, and suddenly, it seemed like the whole crowd was following suit.</p><p>Christen looked from side to side, taking in the girls’ hopeful faces, still sweaty and red from the victory. Lindsey was giving her a sad, exaggerated pout, and Sonny was pumping the crowd up to chant louder, and it looked like Rose was chanting, “<em>Please, please, please</em>” under her breath.</p><p>
  <em>How can I say no?</em>
</p><p>“Oh, all right, fine.” In one fluid motion, Christen pulled the t-shirt on and held her arms out to the side, modeling it for the girls.</p><p>(The gleeful shrieks of the girls, and the way they jumped her again for more hugs, made her wonder if it wouldn’t be so bad after all.)</p><p>As parents, friends, and other supporters flooded the bench area, removing her from the center of attention, Christen quietly took the poster and headed towards the bench. Best to sneak out of here before anyone dragged her into photographs or tried to convince her to grab a post-game meal.  </p><p>Of course, Kelley chose that moment to find her.</p><p>“Congrats, champ! Oh man, look at that poster!” Kelley let out a shriek loud enough to rival any of the girls and wrangled the poster out of Christen’s unwilling hands. “Coach Channing, Festival?! It’s like a promposal, but better. They’re so in love. This,” Kelley shook the poster energetically in Christen’s direction, promptly dousing both of them in a cloud of blue and white glitter, “THIS is the Popular Teacher crown, Ms. Channing. Don’t even try to fight it.”</p><p>“You got glitter all over me!” Christen whined, snatching the poster back, and hoping that Kelley didn’t notice that she was trying to deflect the compliment. Kelley rolled her eyes good-naturedly and vanished into the crowd, as Christen ran her hands through her curls and came away with a palmful of glitter, then shook out the shirt in despair.</p><p>“Cool shirt,” she added under her breath, taking a second to look at it more closely. Underneath the words, 20<sup>th</sup> ANNUAL BARBERRY STONE LABOR DAY FESTIVAL, there was an abstract design of what looked like a bunch of balloons, if you squinted. It was all very minimalist and sleek and cool, not exactly what Christen would’ve predicted for a tiny town like Barberry Stone.</p><p>“You like the shirt? It’s great, right?” Lindsey popped up out of nowhere at Christen’s shoulder, beaming. “Sonny, I told you!” she added, grabbing Sonny by the shoulder and dragging her to join them. “I told you it was worth trying to get the shirt early; she likes it!”</p><p>Sonny flashed an enthusiastic two-thumbs-up at them, while simultaneously rolling her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right as always, Linds, you’re perfect. We should thank—where is she? Tobes! Tobin, she likes it!”</p><p>Christen flinched as Sonny stretched her arm through the crowd and eagerly yanked Tobin right out of the middle of another conversation right behind them. Tobin stumbled sideways into Lindsey’s shoulder, laughing and scolding Sonny—then froze when she looked up and saw Christen.  </p><p>“Coach Channing likes the shirt!” Sonny announced to Tobin, clapping her on the shoulder in congratulations.</p><p>“Thanks for getting it for us!” Lindsey added, wrapping her arm around Tobin’s shoulder.</p><p>Before Christen could quite react, a parent swooped through like a tornado to collect Lindsey and Sonnet for a photo. “Coach Channing, you come too!” the dad said eagerly.</p><p>“Oh, no, no, please,” Christen said firmly, eyes widening. “Maybe next time. No thanks.”</p><p>Luckily, he took the hint and dashed off with just the girls in tow. And that left just Christen and Tobin, standing two feet apart, staring at each other.</p><p>Tobin looked a little shell-shocked, folding her arms a self-protectively. Her smile was polite, but her gaze wandered to the left, then the right, of Christen, as if looking for an escape route.</p><p>And Christen should’ve let her escape. That would have been the logical thing to do, the forward-thinking thing to do, the <em>right</em> thing to do. But maybe she was high off her victory, drunk on the girls’ big gesture, too impressed at her own bravery to commit to the festival, because she took the tiniest step forward and broke the silence first.</p><p>“Um…hi, Tobin. It’s good to see you. I’m glad you came.”</p><p>She hoped the raw honesty in her voice wouldn’t scare Tobin off.</p><p>“Hi!” Tobin’s eyes widened a little, and her hand rose self-consciously to rub the back of her neck, but her smile was genuine. “When Lindsey spent all day bugging me about getting her a festival shirt, I didn’t realize this was what they had in mind.”</p><p>“So you got this for the girls to give me?” Christen was surprised at how easily and conversationally the words rolled off her tongue (considering how fast her heart was beating.) “How do you have this kind of in? Are you on some special, secret festival committee or something?”</p><p>“Well…I…kind of designed it.” Tobin’s voice fell to a whisper so no one else could hear. Her grin was bashful, but proud. “So I had an extra on hand.”</p><p>“What?!” Christen picked up the hem of the shirt, looked at the design with new amazement and respect. It was <em>really</em> good. Really professional. “Tobin, wow.”</p><p>“It’s not that big of a deal, just a couple minutes of Photoshop. I’ve done it for the festival since the year I moved into town.” Tobin laughed off Christen’s praises. “You should’ve seen the old ones. They were really not great. Literally like, Comic Sans font on a shirt.”</p><p>“Well, this is nice,” Christen repeated, looking down at the shirt again.</p><p>“The glitter is a nice added touch,” Tobin chuckled.</p><p>“Oh my god, blame Kelley.” Christen brushed out the shirt again, then shook her hair out, sending another puff of glitter drifting down in a soft cloud around her. “It’s everywhere, isn’t it?”</p><p>“You’ve got a little…yeah, it’s a little in your hair. And on your face.” Tobin chuckled, her glance skimming up from the ground to linger on Christen’s face. She reached out a hand slowly, instinctively, as if she was reaching to run her fingers through Christen’s hair—then seemed to recollect herself, and let it drop limply at her side again.</p><p>There was a beat of silence between them, and then, suddenly—</p><p>“You seem really good,” Tobin said softly, but clearly, staring right into Christen’s eyes. “You seem happier.”</p><p><em>Happier? As opposed to…unhappy previously? I’m not an unhappy person! </em>Christen let out a short, slightly indignant laugh. “What, like I didn’t seem happy before?”</p><p>She thought calling Tobin out would make the other girl retreat a little, make her rein back her strange statement. Instead, Tobin didn’t flinch. Brown eyes continued looking steadily into green. “I mean, no,” she answered simply—not mean, but calm, straightforward. “You didn’t.”</p><p>Caught off guard by Tobin’s honesty, now Christen was the one scrambling for a foothold.</p><p>“Well—I mean—” she stammered. “I’m not unhappy. I mean, I’m not now. But I also wasn’t before.” She couldn’t resist adding, “Also, that’s a weird thing to say.”</p><p>“Is it?” Tobin’s eyebrows rose, like she was genuinely surprised. Her head tilted to the side in that puppy-dog way she had; she looked genuinely remorseful. “Sorry.”</p><p>“It’s…” Christen felt herself melting, caving, like a summer popsicle. <em>It’s a small town, it’s not a business setting, maybe people are just different out here</em>. “Well, it’s just a little blunt.” <em>And maybe I’m not used to people being honest</em>.</p><p>“Well, sorry,” Tobin repeated, drumming her fingers nervously on her legs. (Christen glanced down at her fingers, glazed over for a second staring at the tanned skin of Tobin’s flexing thigh, then quickly snapped back to reality.) “All I meant to say was…you seem good. You seem like you’re really getting along with the girls.”</p><p>Looking back down at the poster, Christen couldn’t help the smile that crept back onto her face. <em>They really like me</em>.</p><p>“They really like you,” Tobin said softly. Christen jumped—for one irrational second, she thought Tobin had read her mind.</p><p>“Well, I really like them too,” Christen said softly, almost to herself. She glanced back up. There was a warmth, almost an awe, in Tobin’s eyes that made Christen feel suddenly in danger.</p><p>“Well, I, uh, better get home and wash all this glitter out before I’m permanently sparkly,” Christen joked lamely. She quickly rolled up the poster in her hands, suddenly unable to maintain eye contact with Tobin. “Uh, bye.”</p><p>In the riotous postgame hubbub, she guessed that nobody noticed her go. Nobody noticed her making her way slowly down the dark, small-town sidewalks in the warm September night. Nobody saw her smiling like an idiot at the sight of the poster in her arms and the glitter stuck to her sweaty palms, remembering the way that Lindsey and the other girls had jumped all over her after the game, shouting and celebrating and hugging. She couldn’t get Tobin’s words out of her mind, though. <em>Sure, I was happy tonight, but it’s not like I was miserable the last few times she saw me</em>, she thought. <em>…was I?</em></p><p>As she walked, she racked her memory.</p><p>She couldn’t remember the last time sometime had hugged her like the girls had tonight.</p><p>Boisterous, impulsive. Enthusiastic. Loving. Free. She wondered if she’d ever been hugged that way in her entire life.</p><p>Perhaps tonight had been the first time.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Vroom vroom buckle up all you cool cats and kittens, things are about to get exciting around here.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Oh my god.”</p>
<p>Christen heard the teenage boy’s voice before she realized it was directed towards her. Startled from a daydream, Christen slowed to a stop on the sidewalk. She was still several blocks out from the festival, but she could already hear the music and crowds, and the sidewalks were bustling with people streaming in the direction of the hubbub.</p>
<p>“Oh, my god. Coach—Ms. Channing, right? You teach Spanish, right?” A skinny teenager dashed onto the sidewalk in front of her, dragging his friend along by the elbow. “Is that the…are you wearing the limited edition Off-White Nike football hoodie?”</p>
<p>
  <em>Am I? Oh yeah, I guess I am. </em>
</p>
<p>The day of the festival had dawned overcast and chilly, so she’d just grabbed any old sweatshirt from her closet and tossed it on over her festival t-shirt.</p>
<p>The look in this boy’s eyes indicated, though, that this wasn’t just any old sweatshirt.</p>
<p>“Um, no? I’ve never heard of that,” Christen lied immediately, sensing passerby’s curious eyes on them. “I got it at, uh…” The gears in her brain spun wildly. “Walmart. Sorry.”</p>
<p>“Oh.” The boy’s shoulders slumped. “Nevermind, then. Sorry to bother you.”</p>
<p>He and his friend jogged off in the direction of the noise.</p>
<p>“Could’ve sworn that was the one I saw on Hypebeast’s Instagram last year, it’s like, thousands of dollars,” she heard him say. “Shit, if that was it, Ms. Channing would’ve gotten even cooler.”</p>
<p>“Maybe Walmart does knock-offs,” his friend suggested. “At least she has good taste, even if it’s a fake.”</p>
<p>Once the boys were out of sight, Christen leaned her crutch against a nearby parking meter and tugged the sweatshirt off. Knotted around her waist, the design was obscured. Much better. (Even though she was freezing now.)</p>
<p>She drew nearer to the festival. Though it had just begun, the streets were already packed with townspeople: eating, laughing, watching the band play. Little stands lining the side of the road offered everything from funnel cake to lemonade to hot dogs. Further out, she saw little arcade games set up. A guy wearing a Barberry Stone Gazette vest was taking pictures of face-painted little kids nearby.</p>
<p>She could hear her mother’s panicky voice in her ear. <em>So many people. TOO many people. Too easy to get lost in a crowd like this. Too dangerous.</em></p>
<p>And even a few weeks ago, Christen would’ve heeded that warning voice immediately. She would’ve turned around and marched right back home.</p>
<p>But now…well, she had officially been in town for a month. She had survived two weeks of teaching. She liked the students and teachers, and she thought—she hoped, with a strength that surprised her—that they might like her back. And then there was Moe, and Julie, and Alex (and Tobin). She found herself strangely looking forward to seeing these people (dare she call them friends?) again.</p>
<p>Most importantly, she had promised her girls she would come.</p>
<p>
  <em>How bad could it be? I’ll just stay for an hour or so.</em>
</p>
<p>And so she took a deep breath to calm her pounding heart, and plunged into the crowd.</p>
<p>First things first: she made her way to Moe’s Grocer. Morgan and her husband Fabrice were cheerfully hawking iced coffees to the masses under an adorable blue-and-white striped awning. “Hi, Morgan! Do you think I can leave my sweatshirt in your store? With the crutch, it’s hard to carry around.”</p>
<p>“Uh, yeah, sure!” Morgan grinned, although her brow furrowed in confusion. “I think it’s pretty chilly out! You must’ve moved from somewhere really cold.”</p>
<p>Christen just smiled and didn’t correct her, as Morgan led her into the store and to the door leading to a back office. “You can just throw it on any chair in here. We never lock this door, so whenever you leave, feel free to come in and grab it!”</p>
<p>“Thanks,” Christen said gratefully, making sure to fold the sweatshirt up so all you saw was white cloth, no pattern, before she placed it onto a chair. She hadn’t realized that a simple piece of clothing could be such a giveaway.</p>
<p>Second things second: as she left the store, she paused at the sunglass rack and picked the hugest pair of sunglasses she could find: these enormous, blocky, hideous black sunglasses. “Can I buy these, or is the store technically closed right now?”</p>
<p>Morgan checked the price tag. “They’re two dollars, just take ‘em.” She cast another amused glance Christen’s way. “It’s cloudy out, though.”</p>
<p>“Well, you never know when the sun might come out,” Christen said vaguely. “And uh, light hurts my eyes more after the accident.”</p>
<p>A complete lie, but Morgan bought it, and Christen slipped out into the crowd with the gargantuan sunglasses perched on her face, wearing the same t-shirt as hundreds of other people. <em>Perfect</em>.</p>
<p>Third things third: Christen made a quick loop around the streets, but unfortunately, there was no sign of the girls so far. It seemed like they were going to make her wait.</p>
<p>“Christen!” She heard a familiar raspy voice call. She turned to see Alex, selling tickets to little kids outside the fanciest building on the street: <em>Morgan &amp; Sons, the fanciest family in town, the one Kelley said owned my house. Alex Morgan.</em> The connection clicked in Christen’s mind as she made her way over to say hi. <em>Didn’t realize Alex Morgan was my landlord</em>.</p>
<p>“Welcome to the 20<sup>th</sup> Annual Labor Day Festival! So, what do you think?” Alex grinned. “Is it everything you’ve ever dreamed of?”</p>
<p>“It’s very cute,” Christen confirmed, glancing around. “Straight out of Gilmore Girls.”</p>
<p>“We get the Gilmore Girls comparison a lot,” Alex chuckled, taking a crumpled dollar bill from a little boy and handing him a red ADMIT ONE stub.</p>
<p>“What are these tickets for?”</p>
<p>“They’re for the rides, which are set up a couple streets down.” Alex pointed, and Christen followed her finger towards the Ferris wheel rising in the distance. “My dad sponsors the rides every year. The nearest real amusement park with actual roller coasters is a seven hour drive from here, so the kids always go crazy for these.”</p>
<p>As the next kid in line diverted Alex’s attention, Christen let her eyes drift towards the Ferris wheel in the distance. She stared up at its slow, dignified turn, at the tiny figures seated on the benches. She’d always wanted to go on a Ferris wheel. She’d seen a million rom-coms, where the couple looks into each other’s starry eyes as they reach the top, how they lean in close, sexual tension filling the air.</p>
<p>Or, if they were in the Notebook, she’d be up there with some loser while the love of her life decided to climb the contraption. Christen squinted up at the ride before her: it definitely looked scarier than the one in the movie. Inexplicably, an image of Tobin in Ryan Gosling’s pageboy cap and button-up shirt, dangling charmingly from the rungs of the Ferris wheel, popped into her mind.  </p>
<p>“What are you laughing to yourself about?”</p>
<p>Christen blinked and glanced around to see Kelley emerging from the crowd. Alex was also looking at her a little curiously.</p>
<p>“Was I laughing? Didn’t realize. Just enjoying the festival, taking in the sights. You know.”</p>
<p>“Seeeee? <em>Enjoying</em>. Knew you’d love it,” Kelley said smugly. “Come on, let’s grab lunch! Have you eaten? Please hang out with me. All our other friends are do-gooders who are actually working.” Kelley stuck her tongue out as Alex as she grabbed Christen’s arm.</p>
<p>Christen trailed Kelley back into the thick of the crowd, making sure to keep her enormous sunglasses firmly on her face. It was slow going with Kelley, who seemed to know absolutely everyone they passed. Christen just hung back, smiling politely and waving as Kelley introduced her to person after person.</p>
<p>“Okay, here we are.” Kelley stopped in front of the adorable white-steepled church building, where volunteers were manning a dozen grills loaded with food. “Chris, what do you want?”</p>
<p>“Um, I’ll take a hot dog?” Christen suggested.</p>
<p>“Mrs. Murray! Mrs. Murray!” Kelley waved down a short, motherly brunette woman in an apron nearby, who appeared to be entertaining a small crowd with a riveting tale. “Could we get a veggie burger and a hot dog? </p>
<p>“Oh sure, Kelley, honey!” the woman responded, turning towards them with a warm smile. “It’ll just be a couple minutes’ wait!”</p>
<p>“Thanks, ma’am!” Kelley grinned. “Hey, how’s your husband doing? I heard from Ali that he’s recuperating nicely!”</p>
<p>“Oh, thank the heavens, he is! I was just telling all these people,” Mrs. Murray spread her hands towards the little crowd, “what an ordeal it’s been!”</p>
<p>“Her husband had a heart attack two weekends ago,” Kelley whispered to Christen. “Luckily, he made it and he’s doing fine now.”</p>
<p>“Oh my god, that’s awful—” Christen started to answer, but she was distracted by Mrs. Murray’s dramatic story-telling nearby.</p>
<p>“And I told him, ‘Paul, it’s too hot of a day to mow the lawn,’ and he hadn’t been feeling quite right, but the kids had a new volleyball net, and they had really been looking forward to playing! So, you know him, he just spoils those kids rotten, he decided to mow the grass. Right at noon, sun is beating down, and next thing I know, he’s collapsed on the grass! I’m screamin’ my head off in the front yard, and the neighbors are calling for help, and next thing I know, Tobin and her guys are there in the ambulance, carting him off. And then—”</p>
<p>If the elevated pitch of Mrs. Murray’s voice hadn’t gotten Christen and Kelley’s attention before, she sure had it now. “Wait, what was that about Tobin?” Kelley asked eagerly, to Christen’s secret delight.</p>
<p>Mrs. Murray spun towards them, thrilled to have a growing audience. “Well, Tobin dear was on her paramedic shift that afternoon, thank the Lord, because there’s no one I trust more than her. I was all in a flutter because I rode in the ambulance with Paul to the hospital, and had to leave the kids with the neighbors for a while, and they were real upset, as you can imagine. And Tobin!” Mrs. Murray flung her arms out dramatically. “After Tobin brought Paul to the hospital—saved his life, mind you—she came back to my house! Finished mowing the lawn for us, the front <em>and</em> back yards! And then set up the volleyball net for the little ones and played with them until I made it home that night!”</p>
<p>The entire crowd, which had now expanded to over a dozen people, ooh-ed and aah-ed in unison.</p>
<p>“Oh my god! Tobin! What a hero!” Kelley exclaimed unnecessarily loudly, a devilish grin on her face as the crowd fell over themselves agreeing with her.</p>
<p>“Uh, what was that, Kelley?”</p>
<p>Tobin herself had walked up behind Mrs. Murray.</p>
<p>The very sight of her sent strange, low flutters through Christen’s stomach. Tobin had her hair pulled back in a wispy ponytail, and wore a stained white apron over the festival t-shirt and jeans. She was carrying two aluminum trays in her arms, loaded with barbecued food. Her eyes flickered suspiciously from Mrs. Murray, locking with Christen’s for the briefest second before landing on the crowd. “Why…uh, why is everyone smiling at me? Kelley, what did you do?”</p>
<p>“I didn’t do anything!” Kelley protested, lifting one entire tray of food out of Tobin’s arms. “We were just hearing about your local lawn-mowing heroics from Mrs. Murray!”</p>
<p>Tobin’s face flushed bright red. “Uh, Mrs. Murray, ma’am, seriously, there’s no need to tell—”</p>
<p>“She already told the whole story,” Kelley interruptedly, eyes glinting with mirth. “And I’m guessing that’s not the first time you’ve told it today, is it, Mrs. Murray?”</p>
<p>“Well, of course not!” The good-natured woman exclaimed, beaming at Tobin and grasping her by the hand. “Everyone should know! I don’t know what we would’ve done without you that day, or how I’ll ever repay you!”</p>
<p>Christen could not imagine Tobin looking more uncomfortable. Alex’s words from the party stuck in Christen’s head: <em>“Her worst nightmare is people feeling like they owe her anything.”</em> Christen glanced at Kelley to see if she’d come to Tobin’s rescue, but she too was busy peering into the tray of grilled food, trying to identify a veggie patty, to notice Tobin’s distress.</p>
<p>“Tobin, that was incredibly generous of you. So kind,” one elderly man piped up from the crowd.</p>
<p>“Yeah, you’re the best!” a younger kid added adoringly.</p>
<p>Tobin’s eyes darted from side to side, and her neck flushed red. The way her shoulders were starting to hunch over, it looked like she was physically melting in front of them.</p>
<p>“I, um…I’m Christen!” Christen blurted out loudly, out of nowhere, startling even herself. All eyes turned towards her. Her heart beat a wild, irregular rhythm against her ribcage. “Hi, Mrs. Murray. Uh, how has your husband’s recuperation been going? Has he been taken care of by Ali Krieger? At the hospital?”</p>
<p>“Christen, lovely to meet you!” Mrs. Murray beamed. “He’s been doing so well, thank you for asking!”</p>
<p>She launched into a drawn-out tale of her husband’s recovery at the hospital, and the exact medical staff that was taking care of him. As the crowd bunched in around Mrs. Murray, Christen lifted her eyes to where Tobin had withdrawn on the periphery. Tobin was gazing at her, a difficult-to-read expression in her eyes. “Thank you,” Tobin mouthed.</p>
<p>Christen smiled shyly in response. Somehow, it felt like Tobin’s stress had been her own stress, and now that Tobin was out of the spotlight, her relief was Christen’s own relief as well.</p>
<p>But then, it hit her what she had just done. Startled and alarmed with herself, she cast her gaze downwards at the trampled grass. Then, on instinct, she turned and ducked her way out of the crowd away from Tobin. She made it to the edge of the sidewalk, hot dog and Kelley totally forgotten.</p>
<p>
  <em>What has gotten into you, Christen Press? Calling unnecessary attention to yourself for the sake of saving an acquaintance from embarrassment? </em>
</p>
<p>That wasn’t like her at all. That was something a selfless, kind, friendly person would do. <em>A selfless, kind, friendly person like Tobin Heath. </em></p>
<p>She stared out at the crowds in front of her, but instead of the bustle of faces and people, she saw in her mind’s eye Tobin, faithfully mowing the lawn under the hot summer sun for a traumatized family. Tobin, setting up a volleyball net and playing until dusk with children whose dad was in the hospital.</p>
<p>What had Alex called Tobin at that party? <em>A good soul</em>. Day by day, Christen felt like she was starting to glimpse more of Tobin’s character. That day Tobin had spent shuttling Christen around from appointment to appointment wasn’t a weird outlier. It was just who she was to everyone: generous, uplifting.</p>
<p>And Christen had taken that kindness and thrown it right back in Tobin’s face.</p>
<p>Filled with self-loathing, she cast one more glance over her shoulder: Tobin and Kelley had again been engulfed by townspeople, surrounding them adoringly as Kelley chattered on about something and Tobin listened with a soft, sweet grin on her face. For a moment, she wondered if she should join them again. But then her mother’s voice sounded nervous alarm bells in her mind, and her father’s voice disparaged her for even caring what other people thought of her, and another voice—maybe her own—said mockingly, <em>it’s not like they’ll even notice if you’re gone</em>.</p>
<p><em>I’ll just find my girls, say a quick hello, and head on home</em>.</p>
<p>But unfortunately, it wasn’t that easy. Christen ran into Sam, who shrieked and said she had to go find Lindsey, but Lindsey said that Sonny was in line for the merry-go-round and Christen had to wait for Sonny or Sonny would cry…and Sulli was working one of the stands but she could try to get someone to cover for her for a second…and Rose wanted to find her dog…an hour later, Christen was still at the festival. It was with an enormous sense of relief that she eventually spotted Alyssa, sitting in the shade at a café table on the front porch of Moe’s Grocer, reading a book.</p>
<p>“You girls collect yourself, and I’ll be here for one more hour. Just one!” Christen said laughingly, but firmly. Sonny and Lindsey shot off to gather the rest of the team. Christen limped up onto the porch and collapsed into a chair next to Alyssa.</p>
<p>“Fry?” Alyssa said in greeting, pushing a plate of cheese fries across the table.</p>
<p>“Oh my god, yes. You’re a hero, Alyssa Naeher.” Christen groaned in delight. Her stomach grumbled as she ate her first fry, as if it was complaining to her about the promise of a hot dog she left behind when she ran from Tobin earlier. “I’m starved.”</p>
<p>“The whole point of being at a festival is to eat some of the food here,” Alyssa noted wryly. “You haven’t tried anything?”</p>
<p>“No,” Christen admitted. The thought of going back out into the crowd on her aching legs was not appealing. “I was just planning on saying hi to the girls and heading out, so I figured I’d just eat at home.”</p>
<p>“That’s stupid,” Alyssa informed her, raising an eyebrow. “Here, you sit, and I’ll grab some food for you.”</p>
<p>“No, Lyss—” Christen began to protest, but Alyssa was already on her feet.</p>
<p>“Consider it a prize for your winning streak,” Alyssa teased, heading down the porch steps already. “Besides, I can see that look in your eyes. If I don’t get you your own food, you’re just going to eat the rest of my fries.”</p>
<p>Left sitting alone on the porch, Christen couldn’t help but grin to herself at the reminder. Two weeks into the season, and the girls had a perfect 4-0 record so far.</p>
<p>“Christen! There you are!” Kelley bounded onto the porch two steps at a time, panting with exertion as she reached Christen’s table. “Geez, with everyone wearing the same shirts, it’s impossible to find anyone. Where did you go earlier?”</p>
<p>“I, uh, thought I saw Lindsey and went to say hi. But it wasn’t her.” Christen froze as she noticed Tobin come slowly up the steps behind Kelley, and pause right at the top of the stairs without coming closer. Kelley might be buying the story, but Tobin probably knew she was lying—after all, Tobin had seen her purposely sneak off from the church table into the crowd.</p>
<p>“Well, we brought you something,” Kelley announced. “Tobin, come here! We found her!”</p>
<p>“Yeah, I can see that,” was all Tobin said. Christen saw that Tobin was holding a hot dog in her hand, carefully wrapped up in aluminum foil.</p>
<p>“We brought this for you, since you left without it earlier. It was Tobin’s idea,” Kelley announced.</p>
<p>“Oh, thanks!” Christen took it gratefully, but a little awkwardly. “I have so much food now. Alyssa just left to get us some too.”</p>
<p>“Well, great, we’ll stay and share it then,” Kelley said in satisfaction, dropping down into a chair, leaning back, and kicking her feet up onto the porch railing. Much more slowly, Tobin pulled out the chair next to Kelley, looking at Christen as if to ask permission. Christen just kept smiling, hoping that she was coming off as relaxed and not panicky.<em> Tobin and Kelley being here probably means more people will start dropping by our table</em>. She readjusted the enormous sunglasses on her head and wished she had worn a baseball cap or some other cover.</p>
<p>Alyssa came back, arms piled high with assorted food from the stalls, and she rolled her eyes fondly when she saw Kelley and Tobin camped out. “Should’ve known you guys would’ve followed the scent of food to us.”</p>
<p>Sure enough, their table became a hot spot, with a steady stream of friends and acquaintances coming and going. Christen was only happy to see a few familiar faces: Moe was constantly back and forth grabbing stuff from inside the store, and Julie and Zach also swung up to the porch to say hi. And then Ali dropped in, arm in arm with a tall, handsome, dark-haired man. <em>Weird</em>, Christen thought, <em>I thought she was with that blonde woman from the party</em>.</p>
<p>And then Ali was saying, “Kyle, I don’t know if you’ve met Christen in person yet. Christen, this is my brother, Kyle.”</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh!</em>
</p>
<p>“Kyle! Hi!” Christen perked up immediately. Thanks to Ali, she’d spoken briefly to Kyle on the phone a couple weeks back, and had sent a gift basket to the fire station where the paramedics worked as well. This was their first time meeting, though. <em>As far as you can remember, at least</em>, Christen reminded herself.</p>
<p>“Christen, hello! Sweetheart, you are looking fabulous.” Kyle dropped air kisses on either side of Christen’s face.</p>
<p>“Thank you! Much better than the last time you saw me, I’m sure,” Christen chuckled nervously. “It’s so nice to meet you in person.”</p>
<p>“The pleasure is all mine, beautiful,” Kyle said, with a weird, amused grin on his face. “Hey Tobes,” he said suddenly, “you should thank Christen for the chocolates.”</p>
<p>Tobin flinched. She looked over at Kyle with wide eyes. (So did Ali and Kelley, for that matter.) “What? What chocolates?” Tobin asked.</p>
<p>“Remember that day you took over Lucas’s shift?” Kyle continued. “And there were a bunch of chocolates and fruits in the kitchen? You ate some of those, right? Did you know that Christen sent those to me to thank me for getting her off the roadside and to the hospital the day of her car accident?”</p>
<p>“No, I didn’t know that,” Tobin responded. Christen wondered why she was looking so uncomfortable – was it because she felt bad that she’d eaten some of the chocolates when they were meant to be for Kyle? “Uh, Christen, that was nice of you.”</p>
<p>“Well, honestly, it was the least I could do,” Christen said earnestly, flashing a warm smile at Kyle. “Tobin told me what you did. I mean, you literally saved my life!”</p>
<p>“No need at all,” Kyle said nonchalantly, his eyes still fixed on Tobin with a weird intensity. “I really didn’t do anything.”</p>
<p>“But you did!” Christen protested. “One day, I’ll find a way to repay you, for real, although I can’t think of any gesture significant enough.”</p>
<p>“I see Ashlyn!” Ali said suddenly, peering out into the crowd. “She’s been looking for us for a while—we better go grab her. See you guys!”</p>
<p>Ali took Kyle by the arm, and they vanished into the crowd.</p>
<p><em>Well, that was weird</em>. Christen glanced over at Tobin, but her face was calm now, and nothing seemed out of sorts. She glanced over to the side, where Alyssa didn’t seem to think there was anything wrong. She was absentmindedly cleaning up the mess of paper plates and napkins on the table. <em>Maybe you’re reading the whole situation wrong, and everything is fine</em>. <em>You don’t even know these people that well—you’re not their friend.</em></p>
<p>Luckily, Christen was saved from her indecision by the sound of girls’ voices approaching. Their table looked up to see the soccer team girls clambering up the porch steps. Rose was holding an enormous stuffed animal dog in her arms, and as they got close to the table, she held it out proudly to Christen.</p>
<p>“Coach Channing, we won this for you at the games!” Abby announced, flourishing her arms dramatically.</p>
<p>“Girls, thanks!” Christen started laughing and couldn’t stop, as Rose deposited the enormous stuffed dog onto her lap. It was a basset hound, with enormous, adorable, droopy eyes and ears. Placed on her lap, it was so large that she couldn’t see over it, and had to awkwardly maneuver it on its side to continue the conversation. “But…why?”</p>
<p>“Because, four game winning streak! Do you know the last time that has happened? NEVER.” Sonnett shoved Kelley’s legs off the railing to make space for herself to sit down.</p>
<p>“Also, you kept using ‘Yo quiero un perro’ as an example in class, so we felt like a dog was a safe bet,” Lindsey added. “But if you don’t like it we can take it down and switch it! I think they also had like…an octopus. And an elephant!”</p>
<p>“No, dogs are great! Thank you!” Christen wrapped her arms around it. (Truth be told, she hadn’t even realized she’d used that example, “I want a dog,” multiple times. She had always wanted a dog when she was younger, but her dad always reminded her—correctly—that she didn’t have the time.) “And I’m glad you’re all paying attention in class,” she joked.  </p>
<p>“What, all the love is for Christen now? No stuffed animals for your other favorite teachers?” Kelley asked indignantly, gesturing wildly to herself and Alyssa. (Alyssa rolled her eyes and slouched further down in her chair, as if embarrassed to be roped into the comparison.)</p>
<p>Some of the girls looked a little ashamed, but Sonnett just shrugged smugly. “No, but do you want my leftover lemonade? I’m sick of it.”</p>
<p>“Traitors! Traitors, all of you!” Kelley protested, but she was laughing. She bundled up some dirty napkins on the table and tossed them half-heartedly in the general direction of the students.</p>
<p>The minutes flew by as they chatted around the table. Christen mostly sat back in her chair, observing the conversation flowing around her. Eventually, Alyssa peeled off and went home, then the girls said their farewells and trickled out in groups.</p>
<p>Lindsey and Sonny were the last lingerers. Christen observed silently as Lindsey gravitated towards Tobin, Sonny towards Kelley. She watched the way Kelley and Sonny ribbed at each other, often making each other laugh so hard they bent over, wheezing. She listened as Lindsey leaned in towards Tobin, adoringly, drinking in every word she was saying.</p>
<p>With a sharp pang in her heart, Christen realized: they were like sisters. She might be the cool new teacher, but these were bonds that ran deep and unbreakable. This sisterhood, this closeness and affection and camaraderie, is what she wanted. What she had always wanted.</p>
<p>And suddenly, she felt lonelier than ever.</p>
<p>When Lindsey and Sonny got up to go, she finally saw the chance to make an exit too. “Well, I’d better head out. It’s been a long day,” Christen said, staring down at the enormous stuff animal in her arms, then glancing down at her crutch<em>. How am I going to get this home? Oh, and my sweatshirt?</em></p>
<p>She looked back up expecting to see Kelley and Tobin still sitting there with her, but instead, the only person remaining was Tobin. Christen’s eyes widened, and she whipped around to see Kelley heading down the street arm in arm with Lindsey and Sonny.</p>
<p>“She said they owed her at least a funnel cake because they didn’t get her a stuffed animal,” Tobin chuckled.</p>
<p>It was the first time all day that Tobin and Christen had spoken directly to each other.</p>
<p>“Oh,” Christen said lamely, a little lost for words. She shuffled to her feet, trying to get ahold of the stuffed dog, but it slipped through her weak grasp and plopped to the wooden boards below their feet, and as she tried to grab it, she dropped her crutch, too, which went clattering down. Tobin quickly stepped up, scooping both the stuffed animal and the crutch off the ground.</p>
<p>Tobin looked from one to the other, then glanced up to survey the way Christen was standing helplessly, leaning on the back of her chair.</p>
<p>“Do you need…” Tobin smiled, but her eyes looked worried, as if she was nervous that Christen was going to bolt again. She paused, switched tacks. “Do you think you’re going to be able to get home okay by yourself?”</p>
<p>Christen couldn’t help but let out a cynical laugh at how painfully obvious the answer to Tobin’s question was. At Christen’s laugh, Tobin chuckled too, nervously. “Hey, I’m just being careful…sorry, I didn’t want to just offer, after last time…”</p>
<p><em>Ouch. Okay, touché</em>. Christen’s smile softened. “Um, thanks. I guess…” She took a deep breath.</p>
<p>Honestly, she did need a ride. It’d be crazy to say no. And she knew she was lucky that Tobin was such a nice, good-hearted person, the kind who would keep being nice even after Christen was so rude to her a few weeks ago. <em>I’ll be more careful this time. I won’t fall asleep, I won’t say anything rude or mean</em>.</p>
<p>And besides, there were some stories she wanted to get out of Tobin, this time around.</p>
<p>“Looks like I might need a lift, if you don’t mind,” Christen said with a shy smile.</p>
<p>Tobin’s grin seemed to light up the whole space. “Yeah, absolutely, I don’t mind at all. It might be a little bit more of a wait, if that’s okay. I need to help break down some of the grills at the church. I’ll just throw this pup into Moe’s office in the store until we’re ready to go?”</p>
<p>Christen readily assented. As Tobin jogged up the street in the direction of the church, Christen wandered down the sidewalk. The streets were already clearing out, food stands were closing, and the band had stopped playing. Christen felt her legs meandering almost of their own accord. She was suddenly possessed with the urge to do something just for herself again. To stake her claim to herself again. <em>You’re not lonely. You don’t need anyone</em>. She let herself wander over to the Ferris wheel. It was still lit up—the glimmering reds and blues brighter now against the darkening sky—but it wasn’t spinning. “Is the ride closed?” she asked.</p>
<p>The kid manning the gears checked the time. “Ten minutes to close, you made it just in time!”</p>
<p>Christen delved into her pocket and fished out the only bill she had, a twenty. “I don’t have an actual ticket, but you can keep the change. You must’ve had a long day.”</p>
<p>“Thanks, ma’am!” the kid exclaimed in awe, taking the bill as gingerly as if it were made of gold.</p>
<p>She climbed gingerly onto the swaying metal bench and pulled the safety bar down so it fit snugly on top of her waist. The seat rose with a shudder, and she gasped as it drifted higher and higher through the air, cresting over the treetops and up into the sunset sky. The kid stopped the turning just as she hit the top of the circle—there was nobody else on the ride anyway—and she gazed in delight over the scene. The streets of Barberry Stone were lit up in a rosy sunset glow, and the chatter of the scattering crowds drifted up towards her. For the first time that day, Christen lifted her heavy sunglasses from her face to take in the sight of the sun setting in a sea of pink clouds over the distant hills.</p>
<p>And as she did, she felt a weight lift off her shoulders. It was absolutely lovely. The town below looked like it was straight out of a fairytale. But something was still missing.</p>
<p><em>It’s not working</em>, the realization sank in. <em>It’s beautiful, but it’s not enough. I want a friend with me. Or a sister. Or a partner. I don’t want to be alone up here</em>.</p>
<p>She wasn’t sure how much time passed, but the next time she looked down from staring wistfully at the sunset, she spotted Tobin. Tobin was standing on the sidewalk far below, one arm holding the enormous dog, the other hand cupped over her eye against the setting sun, gazing up at Christen at the top of the Ferris wheel. It wasn’t clear how long she had been there, but when Christen looked down, Tobin didn’t act caught or embarrassed. Instead, she just gave a little wave.</p>
<p>When they made their way to Tobin’s truck, which was loaded with barbecue grills in the bed (“Lots of drop-offs to do tonight,” Tobin joked lightly), Tobin lifted Christen up into the passenger seat gently, politely. Christen looked around the passenger seat, feeling small tremors of remembrance of the mind-numbing panic that had gripped her the last time she was in this seat. But as Tobin hopped up into the driver’s seat and shot a smile her way, Christen realized that the panic wasn’t as bad as she expected.</p>
<p>Tobin seemed to be content riding in silence, but Christen’s curiosity was starting to get the better of her, so it only took a few minutes before she spoke up hesitantly. “So, was everything okay with you and Kyle Krieger earlier?” she asked. “Because like, when I sent him the gift basket, I assumed he was going to share it with everyone at the station. So it’s fine if you had some. He shouldn’t have made you feel bad about that.”</p>
<p>Tobin smiled her way. “Thanks. I…I was feeling kind of bad about it. But thanks for clarifying. That’s sweet of you.”</p>
<p><em>Sweet</em>. The word made its way through Christen like a sip of a hot drink and settled pleasantly in her stomach.</p>
<p>Tobin was whistling to herself now, seemingly content to let that topic of conversation lie, so Christen pivoted to her next curiosity. “So, the kids and the volleyball? That’s why you were so late to Kelley’s party a couple weeks ago?” Christen asked.</p>
<p>“Hm?” Tobin turned, distracted, pausing her whistling.</p>
<p>“Because you were helping Mrs. Murray mow her lawn, and playing with her kids,” Christen said. She’d put the pieces together earlier. It must have been the same night. “That’s why you were late. But you didn’t say anything when Kelley shamed you for being late in front of everyone.”</p>
<p>Tobin self-consciously removed one of her hands on the wheel to adjust her snapback on her head. “Yeah, I was. I guess I just didn’t feel like I had to say anything, you know? Not like anyone takes anything Kel says seriously, anyway.”</p>
<p>“You don’t like the attention,” Christen mused, half to herself. “And earlier today, when Mrs. Murray was talking about it, you looked like you wanted to die. I’ve never seen you look so uncomfortable.”</p>
<p>“Ugh, let’s not talk about it; I feel like I’m going to die even remembering.” Tobin shook her head and grimaced, as if trying to get a bad taste out of her mouth.</p>
<p>“If you don’t mind my asking, why is it so bad?” Christen asked softly as the truck rumbled down a side street, getting closer to her house. “After all, you <em>did</em> do something really nice for them.”</p>
<p>“It’s just…” Tobin raised a hand to her face as she pondered, and Christen watched in a daze as her fingertips skimmed across her sharp jawline. “You know that feeling when someone is holding something over you? Like you owe them something, and you know it, and boy, do they know it too. They’re just waiting in the wings…lurking there…trying to calculate the right time to collect? It feels like they’ve got a boot on your neck, got you pinned down.” Tobin’s voice had gotten louder, steelier around the edges.</p>
<p>Christen hadn’t been bracing herself for those words, so sharp and vivid and precise, and they hit her like a ton of bricks. “Yeah.” She swallowed hard, as if feeling the tread of boot heels on her neck even then. “Yeah, I do know how that feels.”</p>
<p>Tobin glanced sideways towards her, recognizing the moment of connection. “Well,” she said simply, her voice softening, “I’ve been there. And I don’t want to be that person, for anyone. Today, when Mrs. Murray said in front of all those people that she’d never be able to repay me…” Tobin visibly shivered. “It felt like everyone agreed, like everyone thought I was that person. The person with the boot, waiting. And I’m not very good at hiding my emotions, so, uh, that’s probably why you thought I looked like I was dying.”</p>
<p>The truck bumped gently into Christen’s dark driveway and settled to a stop.</p>
<p>It felt eerily reminiscent to Christen of the last, disastrous time they were here, and the look of uncomfortable recognition on Tobin’s face made clear that she remembered too.</p>
<p>But tonight was different, Christen could feel it. She hadn’t just woken up from a nightmare. She was more in control now. She felt more open to possibilities. The mood was calm, thoughtful, almost peaceful.</p>
<p>And so she felt brave enough to say, “But what if you deserve it?</p>
<p>Tobin’s eyes opened rounder, as if she was having trouble processing. “What?”</p>
<p>“Repayment,” Christen explained, “Gratitude, you know. It sounds like you did a really nice thing for Mrs. Murray, and she was grateful. And you deserved that gratitude. And you can accept that gratitude without feeling guilty about it, or feeling like it somehow makes you into a bad guy.”</p>
<p>Tobin’s face was soft and thoughtful, and she pursed her lips. “Maybe.” She thought for a moment longer, before a smile broke onto her face. “So, I guess every time we talk, one of us has to end up playing therapist, right?”</p>
<p>Christen would’ve laughed if she weren’t so filled with shame. “You’re a much better patient than I was,” Christen mumbled down at her hands.</p>
<p>Tobin’s little grin let Christen know she didn’t necessarily disagree.</p>
<p>“Come on, it’s been a long day for you. Let’s get you on inside,” is all Tobin said in response. It was an olive branch, a clearing of the air.</p>
<p>She lifted Christen out of the truck with her usual carefulness, then walked her slowly to the front door. By now, Christen had gotten more than comfortable with maneuvering herself on her crutch—but she didn’t tell Tobin that, instead allowing the other girl to cradle her close as they walked. Tobin held the laughably huge stuffed animal in her other arm, and deposited it in the living room as Christen walked in, where the dog took up an entire half of the loveseat.</p>
<p>“Bye, Christen,” Tobin said, lingering near the door. Her hopeful little smile made clear that if Christen put her arms out for a hug, she would’ve gotten it. And god, how she wanted it.</p>
<p>But instead, Christen gathered up her self-control and settled for a little wave. “Bye, Tobin. Thanks again for the ride. Get home safe.”</p>
<p>When Tobin was gone, Christen settled down on the couch next to her new fake animal companion. Its droopy plastic eyes stared back in companionable silence. “Looks like it’s just you and me, buddy,” she said.</p>
<p>Except, if she was being honest with herself, she wasn’t sure if that was true anymore. Day after day, Barberry Stone was starting to feel more like home, like somewhere she belonged. And as much as Christen wanted to fight that feeling, she had to admit to herself that maybe she liked it. </p>
<hr/>
<p>“All right, so the difference between ‘mucho’ and ‘muy’...” Christen scribbled the two words on the blackboard, “Is that ‘mucho’ is used with verbs and nouns, while ‘muy’ is used before adjectives. Who wants to give me an example of an adjective we’ve learned in the last week?”</p>
<p>“LOCO!” Sonny shouted from the back of the room.</p>
<p>“Raise your hand, young lady, this is a classroom, not a soccer field,” Christen joked, as the entire class laughed. “Loco, good, that is an adjective, but not one that we’ve learned in the last week. Andi?”</p>
<p>“Saludable?”</p>
<p>“Great, saludable—healthy.” Christen wrote <em>muy saludable</em> on the board as Sonny slouched in her chair and muttered “Show-off” in Andi’s general direction.</p>
<p>“Hey!” Christen heard a voice hiss from the door. It was Kelley, of course, interrupting Christen’s class, as she was constantly prone to do. Christen couldn’t even complain, since the students always perked up when she did it. Right now, they were all giggling amongst themselves.</p>
<p>“Senorita O’Hara,” Christen drawled. “Just in time. Give us an adjective to use in our lesson.”</p>
<p>“What’s an adjective?” Kelley said. “Anyway, do you want to hang out after school? I hear through the grapevine there’s no soccer practice today,” she added, raising her eyebrows at the soccer girls.  </p>
<p>Christen glanced out the window. It <em>was</em> a beautiful day, and it’s true that there wasn’t any soccer practice. But she was in a peppy mood, and there was nothing more fun than embarrassing Kelley in front of her classes. “<em>No quiero ir contigo</em>.”</p>
<p>The class burst out laughing.</p>
<p>“Hey, you can’t make fun of me in Spanish!” Kelley protested. “Quick, guys, tell me what she said.”</p>
<p>“She said she doesn’t want to go with you!” Sonny yelled.</p>
<p>Kelley rolled her eyes. “Ha, ha, Ms. Channing. Too bad, you’re coming. Tobes will be here to pick us up after last period. Don’t be late.”</p>
<p><em>Tobes</em>. Christen hoped her face wasn’t betraying her in front of the kids.</p>
<p>Kelley swung out the door, and Christen finished up her lesson and gave the kids a writing assignment. They settled into silence, the scritch-scratch of pencils on desks the only sound in the room. Christen sat at her desk and propped her chin in her hands, staring dreamily out the window at the golden afternoon outside.</p>
<p>It was October first. October already! The day had dawned bright and chilly and beautiful, and Christen had marveled in the bright reds and golds of the trees as she walked to school, free of her crutch and boot at long last. She’d gone to the hospital to officially get them removed a few days ago, and then, on Kelley’s suggestion, she’d met Kelley, Tobin, and the other girls at the Blue Barb, the only bar in town, for celebratory drinks.</p>
<p>In the three weeks since the festival, Christen had felt herself opening up, one day at a time. Now, when Kelley dropped by her classroom or shot her a text to hang out, Christen found herself saying yes more and more. Not a hundred percent of the time, but maybe fifty percent—and that was more than enough to keep Kelley asking. She realized that she the feeling of sitting at a crowded table, listening to Kelley or Pinoe or Alex regaling them with some wild story. (She liked the feeling of Tobin’s eyes on her from across the crowded table.) She loved sitting next to Alyssa on a breezy porch, doing crosswords next to each other in companionable silence. The other day, she had surprised herself by losing track of time as she chatted with Moe in the aisles of the grocery store until another customer interrupted them.</p>
<p>At the beginning, she chanted her old, worn out rationalizations to herself in an endless refrain in her head. <em>Maybe a little bit mingling is good, maybe having friends will actually help you stay under the radar, maybe it’ll be more suspicious if you hide all the time</em>. But then, there was a moment, one day when she, Ali, Ashlyn, and Pinoe were driving back from visiting Pia. As she listened to their boisterous chatter fill the car, she found herself confronted with the inevitable realization: she liked these people. She liked the students, the teachers, the girls in town. She didn’t just want to pretend to be friends with them. She wanted to be friends, for real.</p>
<p>And so the excuses in her head started to change: <em>This isn’t irresponsible. It won’t be dangerous. You can branch out a little, you can have some casual friends if you’re careful about it. It’s been over a month since you’ve moved here, and nothing has happened. </em></p>
<p>The only piece of the puzzle that maybe felt a little dangerous was Tobin Heath. Because Christen wasn’t sure what she wanted from the other girl…but she had a feeling it wasn’t just casual friendship. Every time she was in the room, Christen spent half the time moping that Tobin wasn’t looking her way, and the other half of the time panicking that Tobin <em>was</em> looking her way. She hated the way the other girl made her feel flushed and nervous and not in total control of herself. And so Christen smiled at Tobin when they were both in large groups together, and said hello, and made small talk. But otherwise, she tried to steer clear of her. And it seemed like Tobin was taking her cues carefully from Christen, because she also sat back patiently and didn’t seek Christen out. Christen felt like they were two planets, orbiting slowly and warily around each other from a far distance.</p>
<p>As the end of the period approached, the kids started getting antsy. Pretending to be adjusting things on the shelves, Christen started meandering around the circumference of the room to keep an eye on them. She’d quickly learned that the students tended to shut up whenever there was a teacher within five feet of them. The boys at the back of the room seemed to be particularly absorbed in a whispered conversation, so she headed that way under the guise of looking through the notebooks on the back shelf.</p>
<p>The whispering boys were Dansby and Aaron, two of the fun-loving, popular class clowns, and they were looking at something on Dansby’s phone. She knew they liked watching football games on his phone, but today, they seemed to be talking about something different.</p>
<p>She was about to gently remind them to keep working when she heard Dansby whisper, “…it was totally secret, apparently, but they just decided to do this sudden drop with all the new versions for this year early. They had a huge showcase event thing this morning, and guess who spoke? The CEO’s daughter.”</p>
<p>“Richard Press’s daughter?!” Aaron exclaimed.</p>
<p>Christen fumbled and dropped the stack of notebooks she was holding.</p>
<p>In a flash, Andi and Lindsey were crouching beside her, helping her gather them up.</p>
<p>“Thanks, girls, thanks,” she whispered, motioning urgently for them to go back to their seats. Maybe they thought she wanted them to keep working, but in truth, she just didn’t want to miss a word of what the boys were saying. Her stomach suddenly felt like it was in flames, and she could feel her heartbeat pinging a crazy rhythm in her temples.</p>
<p>“Apparently it’s like, crazy, because the whole family’s super secretive and nobody’s ever even seen the daughter before.”</p>
<p>Christen drifted towards the far corner of the room, closer to the boys, under the guise of checking some of the papers there.</p>
<p>“What are the specs on the new phone?”</p>
<p>“The announcement this morning said there’s a new 7.2 inch size, and a quadruple-lens 3D camera…”</p>
<p>“They’re adding the phones in black and dark green, too? Matte? Dope...”</p>
<p>Christen fidgeted, about to burst. She didn’t care about hearing phone specs recited. <em>Go back to the daughter. What were you saying about the daughter?</em></p>
<p>Then Aaron passed the phone back to Dansby, who whispered, “Yo, this is Richard Press’s daughter? Damn, she’s super hot!”</p>
<p>“Dansby!” Christen turned on her heel and leveled a glare at where the two boys were whispering. “And Aaron! One more word out of either of you, and it’s detention for a week.”</p>
<p>Both boys slumped down in their seats, eyes wide. The rest of the class sat in stunned silence, too—Ms. Channing never raised her voice!</p>
<p>“And the rest of you, make good use of your time,” Christen called in a louder voice, forcing a smile to her face. “Whatever you don’t finish today will be due tomorrow as homework.”</p>
<p>The sound of groans filled the room, but it worked. Silence reigned until the bell rang.</p>
<p>It took every last shred of Christen’s self-control to stay sweet and smiling as the kids flooded out into the hallways. As soon as the last student filed out of the classroom, Christen shut and locked the door behind them, then switched off the light so the room looked empty. Thank the lord her next period, the last period of the day, was free. With trembling fingers, she dug her phone out of her bag and navigated to the same news searches she always did.</p>
<p>The first link on the page was a CNN video with a blaring red and white headline: “MALLORY PRESS SHINES AT SURPRISE PRESS ELECTRONICS ANNOUNCEMENT.” Christen grit her teeth and clicked on it with a shaking finger.</p>
<p>A well-coiffed blonde reporter was strolling slowly down the sidewalk in front of a massive, futuristic white office building that sparkled in the Southern California sun. “Here in sunny Valeview, California, journalists, scholars, and tech elites have gathered for a surprise new product showcase by Press Electronics.  Usually, Press Electronics debuts all its new products at their annual ‘Press On’ developers’ conference, hosted by the company every spring. It’s at this conference, every year, where Press Electronics unveils a dazzling array of new products and features. And every year, these products are guaranteed to become the hottest-selling new electronics in the world. However, it looks like Richard Press has decided to give us a little early surprise this year..”</p>
<p>The screen shifted to a still picture of a stage hung with enormous screens, each displaying a slowly rotating, shiny Press Electronics phone. A tiny figure in a ponytail, holding a microphone, stood in the middle of the stage. Christen’s heart began to race.</p>
<p>“But leave it to Press Electronics to throw us for not one, but two loops!” the reporter’s voice continued. “The big news out of this morning’s talks was not about the new model Press Vx10 phones, and not even about Press Electronic’s foray into handheld gaming devices with their Press Play modules. Instead, all the buzz is about Mallory Press, the daughter of Press Electronics CEO Richard Press.”</p>
<p>The image changed suddenly to a close-up of Mal’s face. Christen gasped aloud. Mal’s eyes were large and sparkling, her smile clearly genuine as she spoke into a microphone in front of a crowd of thousands. Christen clutched her phone in shaking fingers, bringing it up close to her face. <em>She looks happy. She looks healthy</em>.</p>
<p>“Dressed just like her father in blue jeans and a Press Electronics t-shirt, Mallory wowed the crowd with her charisma and elegance as she announced the Press Play launch this morning. Now, this is a hugely significant shift: for those who follow Big Tech closely, you’ll know that the Press family is famously secretive. Until this morning, it was believed that CEO Richard Press has some number of children, but their names and images are impossible to trace. The family makes no public appearances together, and Richard has never even been photographed with his children. Reporters speculate that Mallory is the younger of two Press children, but have not even been able to confirm this basic fact, or even Mallory’s age. However, for those curious about this elusive young tech heiress, it appears that we have much to look forward to. Richard Press gave the following statement to reporters just minutes ago, after the announcement wrapped.”</p>
<p>The video now showed Richard Press walking down a sterile, luxurious glass-and-silver hallway, reports and microphones swarming around him. Though he was a lean, lithe man—not much taller than Christen herself—his aura seemed to pervade every space he was in, making him loom like the largest man in the room. He leaned in towards one of the microphones as a reporter asked him to speak about Mallory.</p>
<p>“I’m extremely proud of my daughter Mallory. For years, she’s been training and honing her skills to become more involved in our company, and you can see, I believe she’s more than ready. I have always believed in her.”</p>
<p>“Liar,” Christen muttered aloud in the silent classroom.</p>
<p>“Mallory is becoming more and more involved in each and every aspect of the company. There’s not a single decision we make without her involvement, without her…<em>direct responsibility</em>.” Richard’s green eyes seemed to pierce right through the camera as he spoke. <em>He’s talking to me. Shit, that was meant for me to hear, wasn’t it?</em> “I think we can look forward to seeing a lot more of her. This job is never easy, but I feel good knowing that Mallory has my back.” The look on Richard’s face was sinisterly calm. “That I have her on my side.” <em>Shit, shit, shit</em>.</p>
<p>“Well, there you have it!” The video faded to reveal a talk show set-up with a chattering panel of reporters. One man was saying, “An incredible turn of events for the mysterious Press family, to thrust one of their daughters so prominently into the spotlight. But whatever they’re planning, it’s working: “Mallory Press,” “Press Electronics,” and three of their newly launched products are all trending on Twitter.”</p>
<p>“I was so impressed with her performance this morning!” One of the other panelists chirped, to nods all around from her colleagues. “Such a lovely young lady: well-spoken and charming, with such a commanding presence. It is so wonderful to see that Richard Press and his daughter are so close, and that he’s been such a mentor to her all these years.”</p>
<p>“And it sounds like she’s been getting really involved, with all the most intricate details and decisions that the company is making—”</p>
<p>Christen shut her phone off and hurled it back into her bag.</p>
<p>She sank down into her chair and put her head in her arms. She bent down to the cool surface of her desk. Like a tsunami wave raising in the distance, she felt the panic attack incoming. It felt like all her internal organs were cramping at once, tighter, tighter, tighter, and her ears were ringing, and—then the tsunami wave hit, and she was under.</p>
<p>She didn’t know how long the agony lasted. But she finally came out the other side, teary and sweaty and chilled and numb.</p>
<p>Her ears were ringing. She tried to take a deeper breath, but it ached, as if her lungs were flat-out rejecting it. The dark classroom slowly came back into focus. As if someone was slowly dialing up the volume on the radio, she started hearing muffled sounds from Kelley’s classroom across the hall again. Some pop song was playing. The kids were laughing. It seemed like it was coming from worlds away.</p>
<p>Her mind zeroed in on one overwhelming urge. <em>I need to go check the hard drive</em>. She scrambled up from her seat, cramming her stuff into her purse. <em>It’s irrational, but I need to go see if it’s there. I need it to be there</em>.</p>
<p>She smoothed her hair down and fanned cool air into her bloodshot eyes. Under the ruckus that was emerging from Kelley’s room, nobody heard her head down the hallway. She was heading across the parking lot, fighting the instinct to break into a full-out sprint (bad for ankle, also highly suspicious), when—</p>
<p>“Christen?”</p>
<p>Christen whirled around to see Tobin’s truck pulling up beside her, with Tobin leaning out the window, a concerned expression on her face.</p>
<p>
  <em>What is she doing here? Shit, the hangout!</em>
</p>
<p>“What’s wrong?” Tobin threw the truck into park and hopped out from the driver’s seat. “Kel told me to come pick you guys up—are you okay? You don’t look so good…”</p>
<p>It was the first time they’d spoken directly to each other in a while. Christen could only imagine what she looked like at the moment. Probably like she was two steps from death. “Uh, yeah, I’m not feeling great.” Even her voice sounded creaky and weak. “It came on suddenly. I just really need to go home. Can you tell Kelley I headed out?”</p>
<p>“I’ll just drive you.” Tobin was already gently guiding Christen towards the truck. “I came early, so I have time before Kelley and Alyssa get out. And honestly, you don’t look like you’d make it home.”</p>
<p>“Thanks,” Christen said faintly. She agreed. And driving would get her home, and to the hard drive, faster than walking.</p>
<p>Even though Christen wasn’t on crutches anymore, Tobin still opened the passenger door for her, still gently cupped her elbow and gave her a lift up. The ride home was a blur; Christen could barely think straight, though she could feel Tobin’s worried glances on her. As soon as they pulled into the driveway she was out of the car like a shot, rambling an incoherent thanks to Tobin as she practically ran across the yard.</p>
<p>She burst into the house, tossed her purse on the ground, locked the door behind her, checked the locked back door, and sprinted down the hall towards the bedroom all in a matter of seconds. The floorboard was in place, the t-shirts covering the hard drive were there, the hard drive was there. Of course. As she knew it would be. She took a few deep breaths, kneeling there on the floor. Then, stuffing everything back under the floorboard and closing it up again, Christen wiped sweat off her brow and stumbled back into the living room.</p>
<p>She curled up on the couch with her phone, searching and devouring every news article she could find. None of the articles provided any new information, but she kept reading and reading anyway. The first time Kelley texted her to check if she was okay, she swiped the annoying pop-up notification away. The next time Kelley texted, and then Tobin texted right on her heels, she muted both their contacts as well as every other thread they were on together.</p>
<p>The shadows crept longer and longer around her as she read.</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <strong>She was somewhere sunny.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>The sun was beating down overhead. It was scalding hot on the back of her neck; when she touched her hair, it seemed to singe her fingertips. </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>The treetops all around her seemed to buzz with static. They blurred into the bright blue sky behind, came back into focus, blurred again. The dirt roads were stained, dark. The patter of children’s feet sounded far in the distance.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>Then, suddenly rising in front of her, there was an enormous gray concrete building. The hulking structure stretched far into the sky—twenty stories, thirty, forty maybe. It seemed to stretch higher and higher, the longer she looked up at it. The windows had bars over them. </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>And then she was behind one of those barred windows, looking out, out at the jungle treetops and the dirt roads. </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>“Christen?”</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>She turned around. She was in a bare concrete room, sunlight pouring in from the barred window and lighting the whole place up. And there, standing in the room with her, was Mal. Mal as a little girl, around age eight. She wore a pink bandanna over her hair and a yellow apron, too big for her, was wrapped around her body.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>“Christen, are you here to get me?”</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>“Oh my god, Mal.” In one stride, Christen caught Mal in her arms and held her tight, frantically. “Oh, Mal. It’s so good to see you. What are you doing here? You need to leave.” </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>“What do you mean I need to leave?” Mal looked confused. Suddenly, she was older: a teenager with serious eyes, wearing jeans and Press Electronics t-shirt, squirming uncomfortably out of Christen’s arms. “Don’t tell me what I need to do.” </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>“Mal, you need to go,” Christen said urgently. Every fiber of her being was screaming for her to grab Mal and get her out of this place. “You need to leave. Let’s go, together.”</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>Mal studied her for a long moment with those serious, inscrutable eyes. </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>And then, in a flash, she turned and fled the room. </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>It took a strangely long time for Christen to follow Mal across the room to the door, as if she was moving underwater. When she finally got to the doorframe, she looked down onto an enormous, cavernous warehouse space, dim and dusty, filled with saw-toothed machines and steel staircases.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>And Mal was standing across the room, her hands resting authoritatively on a metal railing as she calmly surveyed the chaos below her. <em>How did she get all the way over there, so fast?</em> Mal was flanked on either side by two men in camouflage shirts, with rifles on their backs. They stood protectively over her, their eyes roaming the room. </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>Suddenly, Christen felt a sense of unease, like she should be hiding. She turned to go back into the smaller room—maybe she could climb out the window?—but the door was suddenly gone, just a plain cement wall where it had been. </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>When she turned back towards the room, Mal was giving orders to the two guards, and the guards were lifting their rifles, aiming them, pointing them right at Christen. </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>There were guards all around her where she stood, all around the room, and all their rifles were out.  </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>Stop, </em>
  </strong>
  <strong>Christen tried to yell. <em>There’s been a mistake</em>. Was she talking? Was she moving? Nobody seemed to be able to hear her. She waved desperately towards Mal. <em>Don’t let them do this. I’m your sister. Please. I’m Christen!</em></strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>Mal was staring dispassionately at her, eyes narrowed and cold. Mal’s mouth was moving. <em>Ready, aim</em>, she was saying. <em>Fire</em>. </strong>
</p>
<p>Christen woke screaming.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hellooo everyone! Hope you all like this chapter &lt;3</p><p>Just a PSA before we get going: this chapter introduces Christen's backstory and her family. On purpose, Christen's parents in this story are entirely fictional characters that are not like Cody and Stacy Press in any way. My writing is only going to include main characters that are either public figures in their own right, or entirely fictional. (Call it one of my personal "Sleep on the Floor" rules, ha ha.)</p><p>Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Christen withdrew.</p><p>She walked to school and back every day. She taught Spanish, with clarity and patience and humor. She coached soccer, and the girls kept winning.</p><p>But when Kelley asked her to hang out, she went back to saying no. When she ran into Moe at the grocery store, she waved, with a tight-lipped smile, and turned quickly into another aisle. When she saw Julie from afar, walking down Main Street, she ducked into a nearby store to avoid her.</p><p>If the girls were confused, they didn’t show it, at least not to her face.</p><p>For a few brief, fleeting weeks, she had felt vibrant and alive, like the red and gold leaves bursting from the treetops. And now she was a recluse again, useless and unnoticed and unbeloved, like the brown, decaying leaves now starting to gather underfoot on the sidewalk.</p><p>She didn’t see any other option. After the news about Mal—after the sickening feeling that Richard was talking right through the camera lens at her, threatening her—she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was constantly being watched. That if she talked to anyone in town, they would also be watched. She was waking up once, sometimes twice a night now, from nightmares. She knew she looked wretched. Even Alyssa, one afternoon after they’d finished talking through soccer practice plans, asked, “Have you been feeling all right?”</p><p>“Totally fine,” Christen had replied unconvincingly, robotically. “I might have a little bit of a cold. Change in seasons, you know.”</p><p>(She couldn’t read Alyssa’s expression well enough to tell if the other girl was convinced or not.)</p><p>The one thing she still had, that she couldn’t withdraw from or let go of, was the soccer team. She found herself loving the girls so hard it hurt, though she worked hard not to make it too obvious. When they looked up at her with adoring eyes, she saw Mal. They were just around Mal’s age. It was like the universe was giving her a do-over.</p><p>But she drew the line at the girls.</p><p>One day, towards the end of practice, out of the corner of her eye, Christen saw Tobin’s green pick-up truck pull up into the school parking lot next to the field. Christen tensed up. Earlier, Christen had overheard Lindsey and Abby saying that they were going to some farmer’s market with Tobin after practice. She should’ve expected that Tobin would be picking them up. Tobin had texted her twice in the last couple of weeks, just short, innocuous check-ins to see if she was feeling better after Tobin had given her a ride home that day.</p><p>Christen had ignored the texts, had left Tobin’s text thread muted.</p><p>Tobin got out of the truck and meandered over, pausing about twenty feet away from Christen. Her posture was cautious, her hands in her pockets. The girls were all grinning, waving at her from the field. It wasn’t like visitors were banned. Kelley had dropped in on some of their practices; one time Alex and Julie had come to hang out too.</p><p>But that was before. During Christen’s happy phase.</p><p>She saw Tobin’s face turn towards her, as if she was about to head over to check on her. Christen chose that moment to whistle for the girls to come in from their scrimmage. They swarmed around her, sweaty and tall, blocking her from Tobin’s view.</p><p>As they chattered, Christen pulled Andi aside. “Hey, can you run over and tell Tobin to wait in her truck? I just don’t want Lindsey and Abby to start slacking before practice is officially over.”</p><p>Andi nodded and jogged over obediently. The next time Christen glanced over, Tobin was gone.</p><p>--</p><p>
  <strong>Christen was seven years old. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>It was dusk out, and she was dancing around her father’s study to the classical music that pervaded the room from the surround-sound speakers, discreetly hidden behind leather-bound books on the towering bookshelves that lined the walls. She was dancing in the way that seven-year-olds did, all flapping arms and twirls and tiptoes. Her father sat at his desk in the far corner of the room, mulling over some papers, and her mother was reading in a green leather recliner by the fireplace.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Finally tired out, Christen flopped onto her stomach on the oriental rug in front of the fireplace, next to the plush sheepskin that swaddled baby Mallory. Mallory was bright-eyed and gurgling sweet baby nonsense. In fascination, Christen poked at each of her tiny baby toes. Mallory squirmed and giggled, grasping at Christen’s finger with her grabby baby hand. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Mommy, look! She’s holding my hand!” Christen exclaimed. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Tara smiled warmly at them from her book.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“If you’re very careful, Chrissy, you can pick her up and hold her. Make sure you’re holding the back of her head.” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>In fascination, Christen reached down and put her arms around her baby sister. But before she could lift her up—</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Christen!” Richard called from the corner. He waved a stack of handwritten papers in the air. “Come here a moment.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Daddy, did you see Mallory holding my hand?” Christen asked eagerly, running across the room and launching herself into Richard’s lap. “Isn’t she the cutest?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Richard ignored her question. “Chrissy, you wrote this paper all by yourself?” He held the papers up to her, and Christen took them in her seven-year-old hands, still round and soft and a little fumbling.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Yes, this is from last week, Daddy,” Christen responded, glancing over her own careful handwriting. “This is from history tutoring. Jenny is teaching me about the industrial resolution.” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Re-<em>vo</em>-lution,” Richard chuckled, ruffling Christen’s wild curls. “And how did you write it?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“I read the books that Jenny gave me,” Christen was already losing interest in the topic, swinging her legs rhythmically over the arm of the chair to the beat of the music. “She said to choose my favorite invention. So I chose the spinning jenny, because that’s like Jenny’s name! And I read about the spinning jenny in a lot of books and wrote down my favorite things about it.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Richard was nodding, flipping through the pages again. “Did you copy any of this out of those books, Christen?” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen sat up, indignant. “No, Daddy, I wrote it all by myself! One of the books said that people could work twice as fast and didn’t have to work so hard! So they could stand and use two of the spinning jenny machines at once! Or even <em>three</em> at once! And then you can put a million billion of them in the same building and you don’t need as many people!”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>As Christen was speaking, her father’s eyes had lit up, and he was staring down at her with a fervent intensity. “Chrissy, this paper is <em>very</em> good.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Thanks, Daddy!” Christen hopped off his lap and skipped back towards Mallory. “Hey, Daddy, did you see that Mallory was holding my finger? Let’s see if she’ll do it again!” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Tara, stop fussing with that novel and come take a look at this!” Richard launched himself out of the chair and strode over to his wife, waving the sheaf of ragged notebook paper in the air like some kind of manifesto. “Our daughter’s a little genius!” </strong>
</p><p><strong> <em>A little genius</em> </strong> <strong>. </strong></p><p>
  <strong>Christen’s brain tucked that phrase away, along with the feeling that accompanied it: a rush of warmth and pride.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“She wrote this by herself!” Richard was whispering to Tara now. “I’ve been highly impressed with her progress so far, but this is remarkable…”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen tuned her parents out as she returned to playing with Mallory’s feet.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“…I agree it’s impressive, but you’re pushing her too hard…she’s seven years old, for crying out loud…” she thought she heard her mother say. Her father argued back, his voice low. Christen concentrated very hard on stroking the downy baby hairs on Mallory’s head so they all lay the same way.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Christen!” Richard said suddenly, cutting off something his wife was saying. He was walking over and holding out his hand to her. “Come with me. I want to see the rest of what you’re working on with your other tutors.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Okay!” Christen scrambled to her feet, leaving Mallory whining and reaching for her. “Mallie, I’ll be back to brush your hair later!”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> She never made it back. For hours, she sat on her dad’s lap in front of the library table where she did her tutoring, explaining each of the subjects she was learning, until her head was drooping and nodding onto his shoulder. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Princess, are you tired?” Richard asked as the clock struck midnight. Outside the towering library windows that rose high overhead, the acres of perfectly manicured Press property were obscured in darkness. Only the wavering of lamps along the walkways were visible. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“No, Daddy,” Christen whispered sleepily before letting out an enormous yawn. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Richard couldn’t help but chuckle. “Good answer, sweetheart. Presses are mind-over-matter people, you know. But we should probably get you to sleep now anyway.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>As he picked her up in his arms and switched off the library lights, Christen mumbled, “I told Mal I’d brush her hair tonight.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Mallory is already asleep, princess,” Richard whispered comfortingly as he carried her up the wide, curving main staircase to her room. “You can always brush her hair tomorrow. What we had to do tonight was important.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Was it important?” Christen muttered softly, already dozing off as Richard settled her into bed and tucked the blankets in around her. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“The most important.” Richard placed a light kiss on her forehead and stroked her hair back from her childish face, peaceful in sleep in the moonlight.</strong>
</p><p>--</p><p>Late October. The days had grown shorter and colder, and Christen was grateful for the opportunity to snuggle up deep into the drawn-up hoods of jackets and coats. She walked through the streets of Barberry Stone hunched into herself, trying to make herself invisible.</p><p>The whole town was bursting with Halloween decorations. They were fascinating and a little gruesome to Christen; she had never celebrated Halloween before, and the witches and bloody ghouls disgusted her. She turned her face from houses that displayed them as she walked by.</p><p>But she had overheard teachers in the lounge the other day talking about having candy in their classrooms. She wasn’t sure if it would be a weird faux pas to <em>not</em> have candy in the classroom. So here she was in Moe’s Grocer, looking for some candy.</p><p>Her giant, blocky sunglasses from the fair had become her new favorite accessory, and she kept them on now as she perused. She stood before the enormous selection of candy, finger to the side of her nose, feeling a little overwhelmed. She had never eaten candy growing up. (Maybe just the occasional gourmet chocolate truffle.)</p><p>“Christen?”</p><p>Christen turned to see Alex Morgan standing behind her.</p><p>“Oh, sorry.” Christen lifted her sunglasses to rest on top of her head, backing up from the display. “Sorry, am I in your way? Go ahead.”</p><p>“No, I…” Alex said, puzzled, her icy blue eyes appraising Christen. “I just haven’t seen you in a while, that’s all. None of us have.”</p><p><em>Shit</em>. Christen should’ve picked another time to come to the store—an early weekday morning, instead of noon on Sunday. “I’ve been around,” she responded. “Just really busy, you know, with the soccer season. And teaching.”</p><p>Her excuses sounded lame even to her own ears, and judging from the slight arch of Alex’s brow, the other girl wasn’t buying it either. Christen cringed internally. Other girls might’ve just smiled and let her off, but Alex seemed like a tougher breed than the rest.</p><p>“You haven’t been feeling well?”</p><p>“What?” Christen startled. “I mean, no?” (She recalled that she’d told Alyssa she had a cold. Maybe word had spread. She tried to keep it vague.) “Maybe a little under the weather. Just busy, mostly.”</p><p>Alex tilted her head to the side. “Tobin and Kelley said that you haven’t been around since early October, when you got sick one day after school.”</p><p>“Yeah. I was…I was sick.” <em>Nice one, Christen, real eloquent</em>.</p><p>“Well, you still don’t look so good, actually,” Alex said bluntly. “Maybe since it’s been a few weeks, you should go see a doctor.”</p><p>“Yeah, good idea.” Christen forced a smile, and held it until Alex departed. Alex was hard to read. <em>Is she suspicious? Is she mad? Is she just concerned?</em> Christen wondered as she filled up her basket with candy and checked out.  </p><p>She paused to order a latte at the coffee kiosk on the Moe’s Grocer porch. As she waited for the barista to prepare the drink, the church bells across the street began pealing, and then—<em>oh, great</em>—the double doors opened and churchgoers flooded out onto the church lawn and sidewalk. <em>Should I leave the coffee and just go? No, don’t be stupid, Christen; you already paid for it. It’ll be fine</em>. <em>Nobody will notice you</em>. She slipped her sunglasses back over her face and tugged the hood of her jacket up around her neck.</p><p>It seemed very appropriate, very small-town, just how many of the residents attended church. Christen’s family had always been vaguely spiritual, but they’d never gone to church. After all, that would’ve involved leaving the estate. Among the crowd, Christen spotted Moe and her husband, Julie and Zach, Kelley, and a ton of her students. And then there was Tobin, of course, dressed more formally than Christen had ever seen in a navy blue shift dress and heeled booties, her hair falling in soft waves around her face. Christen watched as someone handed off their baby to Tobin. Tobin lit up as she cuddled the baby in her arms, her face soft and bright.</p><p>Something about the scene hurt Christen to watch. Maybe it was because Christen knew that she was terrible with babies. Always had been. Or maybe it was just the pain of being on the outside of the community yet again, looking in, with no way to join. She turned away to accept her coffee from the barista.</p><p>She wasn’t able to take a deep, relaxed breath until she finally made it back to her house. Even after a few months, the house looked as neat and sterile as the first day she’d moved in. She liked it that way. She put on some classical music and wandered through the space, wiping crumbs and straightening couch cushions. Finally, she settled on the couch with a glass of wine and a well-worn book of poetry. In the last month, she had gone through her small stack of books once, twice, now three times.</p><p>She closed her eyes for a moment and tried to enjoy the silence, the stillness, the cleanliness. <em>This is good</em>, she told herself, <em>you’re happy alone</em>. The old mantras felt thin and flimsy now. She knew she was lying to herself. But what other choice did she have?</p><p>--</p><p>
  <strong>By the time she was ten years old, Christen Press lived the lavish, regimented life of a baby executive. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>The alarm at her bedside went off precisely at 5 AM every day. Some days it was definitely a struggle to get her eyes open, but she always made it. She knew she couldn’t let her father down. By 5:15, she was down at the indoor Olympic-sized pool, swimming laps under the watchful eye of a private swim coach while her father swam three times as many laps as her in the next lane over.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Great work, princess,” Richard always praised her as they were toweling off. “One day, you’ll start beating my times, and I’ll feel like the old man I am!”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Daaad,” she would groan good-naturedly. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>After a quick post-swim shower, she was always ravenous. She joined her father in his study for breakfast at 6:30 on the dot, watching the sun rise over the ocean and eating a sumptuous breakfast served on silver trays. Her nanny braided her hair behind her as she ate. Another servant’s only job was to hold that day’s copy of the <em>New York Times</em> up in front of her, because her ten-year-old arms were too short to hold it open herself. As Richard and Christen ate, they discussed the articles in the day’s paper. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>With a kiss on Christen’s forehead, Richard would leave for work around 7:30, and Christen would head to the library for a full day of tutoring. Mornings were for the standard subjects: math, literature, history, science. Then she ate a quick lunch with her mother and three-year-old Mal. It was usually the first time she saw them, and it was her favorite time of day. She would bounce Mal on her lap, asking her silly questions about her day as Mom smiled fondly over at them. It was always hard to reluctantly pull herself away for more tutoring in the afternoon, drilling foreign languages and economics and current events.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>5 PM usually found Christen out in the gardens, kicking a soccer ball around. After she’d watched the Women’s World Cup on TV and expressed an interest in soccer, Richard had an entire swath of the sprawling estate converted into a miniature pitch for her to play on. The only problem? There was no one to play with. She would sometimes drag a maid or chauffeur out to kick around with her, but she could tell that they were reluctant and impatient, though they professionally tried to hide it. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>So she stopped asking, and now she just lined up the balls herself and practiced her penalty kicks by herself. 100 with her right foot. 100 with her left. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>The pitch bordered the main driveway, so she could see Richard’s car pull in as he returned from work. He’d stop and fling the door open, and she’d jump into the car. They’d ride together up the driveway to the front doors of the estate, chattering about their days. She loved how he always cuddled up close with her, even though he was in an expensive suit and she was all sweaty and grass-stained. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>After dinner, they’d have more family time. Sometimes Richard and Tara would go for long, slow strolls in the garden together. (Christen even saw them kissing once—yuck!) Sometimes they would all gather in Richard’s study, and Christen would do her homework as her parents read. The exception was every Wednesday, when Richard would attend a weekly meeting with a panel of Christen’s tutors to discuss her progress.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Tonight, as Richard looked through one of Christen’s essays at his enormous mahogany desk in the corner of his study, Christen sat on the ground near the door and played with Mallory. She loved tickling Mal’s tiny toddler toes and watching her big brown eyes light up as she giggled.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Aww, who’s this? Who’s this cutie?” Christen cooed, pulling Mal up into her lap with her skinny ten-year-old arms. “What’s your name?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“I’m Mal! You know already!” Mal lisped out in her stuttering baby voice, throwing her arms around Christen’s neck. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen stilled as she heard footsteps sounding in the hallway right outside. Through the crack in the door, Christen could hear the whispered voices of her dad’s personal assistant and the businessmen who’d just stopped by. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“You can’t go in there, he’s with Christen.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Oh, shit, the older daughter? Sorry.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>A pause.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Any idea when he’ll be out? We’re going to need his sign-off on this decision soon. Do you think we could just pop in—”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Are you new here?! Nobody interrupts when Richard’s with Christen. She’s his top priority. The deal can wait.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen grinned with pride. She snuck a glance across the room at her dad, still engrossed in reading her essay. <em>You hear that, world? A million other things to do and people to talk to, but I’M my daddy’s top priority</em>. Even at her young age, she knew this was rare for a businessman like her dad. She knew it meant he was a good man. A “family man.” That’s what they called him in the newspapers she read every day. Every time they mentioned Richard Press—and it was becoming more and more often—Christen would carefully highlight his name and cut out the article, saving it in a shoebox she kept under her bed. She was starting to run out of room in the shoebox.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>She hoisted Mallory up in her arms and handed her over to their mother. In her fluffy slippers, Christen padded across the room and snuggled up on her dad’s lap, in the wide leather desk chair under the green-shaded lamp. He planted a firm kiss on the crown of her head as he flipped another page. “This is excellent, Chrissy. You’re a brilliant girl, have I ever told you that? Have I ever told you I’m proud of you?” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>He only told her that once a day. “Once more never hurts, Daddy.” Christen beamed up at him. “You really like it? You think it’s good?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Instead of giving her a straight answer, her father stared across the room, lost in thought. Christen didn’t mind, burrowing closer into the soft cashmere of his sweater as she waited. He did this all the time. She often thought he was too smart for straight answers to questions. He’d place the question in a larger context and answer the larger context.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>And now, instead of answering whether he thought her paper was good, he took her little chin in his hand and looked her in the eye and said, solemnly, “My princess. You’re going to rule the world one day, you know that? The world will be yours, and you’ll deserve every piece of it.” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Bashful at this high praise, Christen tucked her face into his sweater collar to hide her blush.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Richard stared down at her, face thoughtful. “I think you should start sitting in on the occasional meeting at the company, princess.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“<em>Richard</em>—” Tara’s head shot up, her novel dropping to the ground out of limp hands. “No! She’s <em>ten</em>—”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Daddy, really?!” Christen squealed, throwing her skinny arms around his neck in glee. “Can I really?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Chrissy, baby, no,” her mother pleaded. She got to her feet and approached them, clutching tightly to Mal, who was squirming in her arms. “Richard, it’s too soon. It’s too dangerous. I don’t want everyone at the company knowing who she is.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“We’ll sneak her in the back way, or we’ll have the meetings here,” Richard said dismissively. “We can start with the executive board meetings. There’s just twelve of them, and they’ve all signed the non-disclosure agreement already, so they can’t mention Christen to anybody. She can start eating lunch with us when we have business lunches. You want to, isn’t that right, princess? You think this is a good learning opportunity, don’t you?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Yes, I do!” Christen said, looking eagerly between her parents. It would be so cool to go to the office! She always wondered what her father did all day while he was away: the important things he decided and important people he talked to. And it would be so nice to leave the estate grounds once in a while. Sure, they went on international vacations, but on a day-to-day basis, they never left the estate. She wanted to see what their neighborhood looked like. She wanted to sit in a car. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>She wanted to see a new face for the first time in months. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“All right, then, it’s settled. What the princess wants, the princess gets. Tara, don’t worry, we’ll take care of all the security details,” Richard drew his wife towards him by the hand and placed a reassuring kiss on her cheek. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Mal reached out her chubby little arms to him, but Tara was pulling away unhappily. Looking down at Christen’s huge smile, though, she knew the battle was lost. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“You need to watch the kind of business you talk about in front of her,” she cautioned her husband as she marched out of the room. “It’s not all child-friendly.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“What does Mommy mean?” Christen asked curiously, watching her mother disappear through the doorway, Mal still whining and disconsolately reaching out towards Richard. Richard didn’t seem to notice. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Never you mind for now.” Richard stroked Christen’s hair down. “Sometimes we have to make some hard choices on difficult questions, that’s all. For the good of the company. You’ll get there one day, but we’ll start out easy, hey?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Not too easy, I don’t want your workers to think I’m stupid!” Christen worried. “And Daddy, you can’t call me princess in front of them.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Richard chuckled. “Why ever not, princess?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Because!” Christen protested panickily. “They need to think I’m an adult!” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Oh, honey.” Richard took Christen by the shoulders and stared into her eyes for a long moment. He seemed like he was about to say something else, but instead, he abruptly gathered her close into his arms for a big, long hug, resting his chin against the top of her head. “Okay, I won’t call you princess in front of them. But just remember, you don’t have to be an adult for a long while yet, Chrissy, okay? You’re a very, very special little girl, a star. But you’re still a little girl.” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Daddy…” Christen pulled back suspiciously at the wet, choky tone of her dad’s voice. “Are you <em>crying</em>?” Her daddy never cried. Her mommy sometimes, and Mal all the time, but never her daddy.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Richard scoffed, quickly drew his sweater sleeve across his eye, sat up straighter, but still held her close. “Of course not, Christen. Presses don’t cry.” </strong>
</p><p>--</p><p>Early November, and the Barberry High School varsity girls’ soccer team had made the regional playoffs for the first time in decades.</p><p>The girls were ecstatic, through the roof. Their adoration of Christen grew, day after day.</p><p>The upside was that this gave Christen a safe excuse not to spend any time with anyone. By this point, most people had finally given up on asking her to hang out. But if anyone mentioned something, it was easy to shrug and say, “No, sorry, soccer’s been keeping me so busy…”</p><p>The downside was that as the profile of the girls’ soccer team increased, so did Christen’s. It was harder to walk through the streets now without friendly townspeople stopping her to congratulate her on how well the season was going. She always smiled politely, always made cheerful small talk. And she always found an excuse to duck out of the conversation after a couple minutes.</p><p>She checked the news every day. Most days there was nothing, but sometimes there were new stories about Press Electronics, or new developments about Mal. Mal attending the opening of a new Press Electronics flagship store in Denver. Mal traveling to Tokyo to attend talks about developing international standards for phones. And of course, there were long pieces describing how interesting Mal’s story was, how well she was doing, and whether Richard Press was planning on passing the multi-billion company down to her. Every time Christen saw a new picture of Mal, her heart would start pounding. She studied Mal, her teenage face oddly juxtaposed against the formal navy or black suits she wore. She always zoomed in close on Mal’s face, wondering if there was any fear, any worry, behind those eyes.</p><p>But it was hard to tell. She’d never been good at reading her sister; they’d never been close.</p><p>The nightmares didn’t go away; in fact, they increased in frequency. Once or twice, Christen even woke to find that she had sleepwalked in the middle of the night, ending up on the ground next to where the hard drive was hidden. She stopped trying to go back to sleep after particularly bad nightmares. Instead, she’d stay up, turn on all the lights in the house, and distract herself by mulling over the team. Should she try playing Rose higher up the field? Was Andi holding up okay under the pressure of being captain? Should they try a box formation?</p><p><em>Maybe I can’t take care of Mal anymore</em>, she told herself, <em>but I can take care of my girls here</em>.</p><p>--</p><p>
  <strong>The soccer pitch was Christen’s happy place. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Daily executive team meetings, weekly product marketing planning sessions, and the quarterly international business trip—it was a lot for a girl of fourteen to handle. Even if the girl of fourteen was, as Richard constantly reminded Christen, “a star.” Ever since Christen had miraculously convinced her parents to let her join a local soccer team, she’d reveled in the three hours a week where she could just dash around the pitch and put business out of her mind for a little while. Sure, she’d had to make some compromises, like the fake name— “Kristen Tyler”—that her mom made her play under. And while the rest of the girls seemed to be great friends on and off the pitch, Christen always had to head straight home from practices at her mom’s request. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>She often felt like the odd one out. It was strange. Even though she felt right at home among the Press Electronics executives, when she was around a bunch of teenage girls, she started second-guessing herself. Sometimes she found herself wondering what it would be like, to just be any other girl on the pitch. Going to a local high school. Hanging out at the mall. Dating. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>After a particularly grueling practice, Christen squirted water onto her face from her bottle as she tossed her muddy cleats into her duffel bag. Her mind was already a million miles away, thinking through the checklist of prep work she had to do for the next executive board meeting, when she heard someone call her name.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>She looked up, and her breath caught in her throat. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Cassie Alfonso was one of the most popular girls on the team. She had the kind of sparkly personality where she was effortlessly kind and charming to everyone. More than once, Christen had caught herself in a daze, admiring her bright smile and her long, tan legs. And Christen, who was usually so confident and graceful and professional in front of some of the top businessmen in the world, would get all tongue-tied and flustered every time Cassie looked her way. </strong>
</p><p><strong> <em>She’s just so…cool. So popular. So good at soccer</em> </strong> <strong>, Christen told herself. <em>It’s just a little bit of jealousy, or something</em>.  </strong></p><p>
  <strong>“Hey, I’m glad I caught you!” Cassie said cheerfully, holding a sparkling silver envelope out to her. “This is for you. It’s an invitation to my Sweet Sixteen in a few weeks. I really hope you can make it!” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“This is for me? Really?” Christen couldn’t stop the words as they tumbled out of her mouth. She turned the envelope over in her hands, admiring the iridescent way that Cassie’s name sparkled in the sunlight. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Yeah, of course!” Cassie said kindly. Though she was a little older and taller than Christen, she stooped a little to catch Christen’s eye. “I’d really like to get to know you better, Christen. We’ve been on the same team for a year. I know you usually have to leave right after practice, and I’ve heard coach say you live farther away, so you don’t get to hang out with the rest of us as much. But…” Her smile grew a little shy. “I think you seem really cool. It’d be cool to hang out more, right?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“I—I don’t know what to say.” Christen was smiling so wide, her cheeks hurt, and a little swarm of butterflies had taken up residence in her stomach. “I’ll have to ask my parents. But I’m sure they’ll say yes!” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Perfect.” Cassie’s smile was brilliant, relieved. (Were Cassie’s cheeks turning a little pink? No, surely that was just the aftereffect of a tough practice under the hot sun.) “I’m guessing you don’t want to come grab some food with us at the diner? We’re heading there now.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“No,” Christen admittedly reluctantly. “I’ve got to run.” Her personal chauffer, Gerald, was surely already waiting around the corner. (Her mom always asked that he park out of sight, so the other girls wouldn’t see the car.) And of course, there was her checklist of prep work for the executive board meeting.  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“No worries,” Cassie said. “I’ll see you around, at the party if not before!” She jogged back towards her waiting friends, who all waved at Christen in a friendly way before they walked off together. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>In the car on the way back from practice, Christen turned the invitation addressed to Kristen Tyler over and over in her hands. Slowly, almost reverently, she slid her thumb under the flap and opened it. The glittery invitation sparkled in the sun. There was going to be a party at a country club, the invitation said. Then, written in Cassie’s round, girly handwriting on the back of the card, there was another address and details about a sleepover for some of the soccer team girls. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen felt warm all over. She’d not only gotten an invite to the party, but also to the sleepover? Half an hour ago, she wasn’t even sure that any of the girls on the team noticed her or cared who she was. Especially Cassie. Giddy, she hugged the invite to her chest. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>In the rearview mirror, Gerald grinned at her. “Good news, Miss Chris?” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen couldn’t stop the giggle that bubbled out of her throat. “<em>Great</em> news, Gerald.” She’d never been happier.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>That is, until it all came crashing down around her. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Absolutely not.” Tara Press’s hands literally trembled as she read over the invitation, and she slapped it down onto the dining table with a loud <em>thwack</em>. “Christen, what has gotten into you? Did you really expect that your father and I would allow you to attend such a thing?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen could already feel tears pricking at her eyes. Neither of her parents ever raised their voices at her. She was a good girl. She did everything right. She just wanted this one thing, for once, and she could already feel it slipping through her fingers. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Dinner had been a fiasco. Richard had yet to arrive because of a late work call. Christen had made the mistake of bringing up the invitation as soon as she entered the room, and it had immediately devolved into madness. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Seven-year-old Mal was sitting silent, her wide eyes darting between Tara and Christen.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Mommy, you’re being paranoid!” Christen felt tears welling up larger her eyes. “Nobody on the team even knows my real name. Nobody’s going to abduct me from Cassie’s party!”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Christen, you don’t know what these people know! They could know more about you than you think.” Her mother’s eyes were wide, her hands fluttery. “You don’t need me to tell you what happened before you were born—”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Mom, I know!” Christen flung her fork down on her plate. “I know, I know, you’ve told me this a million times.” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Years and years ago, right after Tara had married Richard and moved to California to live with him, they had been held at gunpoint one night by an intruder lurking in their driveway. It was some deranged man, who had figured out where the up-and-coming tech entrepreneur Richard Press lived. After that incident, they had moved to the current Press estate, a sprawling, multi-acre fortress with state-of-the-art security, so private that it showed up only as a blur of brown and green if you tried to find it on Google Maps.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“But things are different. We have security now. Nobody even knows that Daddy has any children. You know how careful I am.” Christen rattled out all her best arguments.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Tara wasn’t budging. “You know the rules in this house. You are <em>not</em> going to that party.” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“This is totally unfair!” Christen protested. “I’m going to be the only girl on the team who’s not there—”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“That’s for the best. In fact, maybe it was a mistake to even let you join this soccer team.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“<em>Mom!</em>”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“All right, that’s enough, both of you.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Tara and Christen both flinched. Richard was leaning against the doorway, arms crossed. Who knows how long he had been there? </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Tara, calm down, let me handle this. Princess, come take a walk with me.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Casting a baleful glare at her mom, Christen snatched her sweater up from the back of her chair and stomped towards the door. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Tara, make sure Mal finishes the vegetables on her plate,” Richard added under his breath as he followed Christen. “Can’t you see that Christen’s finished with hers?” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Once outside, Christen and Richard wandered together through the sprawling, lamp-lit gardens behind the estate. The sun was just sinking in the west, and the sky was painted in gradients of blue-gray and pink. Crickets chirped from the trees, and the footsteps of security guards sounded in front and behind them as they strolled. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Richard finally broke the silence. “Tell me, Chrissy, why do you want to go to this party?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen knew that with her dad, rhetorical questions weren’t a thing. He wanted a real answer. So she scuffed the toe of her loafers into the gravel, and thought, and said, “I like all the other girls on the team. They’re nice, and…I don’t want to feel like I’m the only one who’s not there, having fun with them.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>(There was something else, that tingly feeling she got when she looked at Cassie, but she couldn’t find the words to explain that to her father.)</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“And why is it bad that you’re not there?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Because…” Christen shrugged. “I guess I don’t want them to think I’m weird. That I’m different. And I don’t agree with Mommy that it’s too dangerous. And I don’t want to let Cassie down. She’s been really nice to me.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Tell me this, Chrissy. You say these girls, like Cassie, are nice. But are you friends with them?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“I mean…no. I always leave right after practice, so I haven’t really had a chance to hang out with them. But like I said, they’re nice. I think Cassie wants to be friends with me.” Christen pictured Cassie’s bright smile, the way that the sun glinted off her sleek ponytail, the way she hyped the team up at halftime. Again, she felt an unexplainable little flutter in her stomach. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Richard wrapped his arm around Christen’s shoulders. “Let me tell you a little secret, princess. I can guarantee you, right now, that even if you hung out with those girls more, you still wouldn’t be friends with them.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen stared up at him with round eyes. “Why, Daddy? Do you think they wouldn’t like me?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Richard scoffed. “Certainly not, Christen. They would like you. You, of all people, could make anyone like you if you wanted to. The point is, though, that they would never <em>understand</em> you. You say “different” like it’s a bad thing, but princess, it’s a gift. You are different from them, because you’re special and important.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“I don’t think I’m following…” Christen admitted, her forehead wrinkling. <em>A “gift”? To be the only one left out? To be misunderstood? I don’t think so. </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>They reached a stone bench nestled in a sea of pink flowering bushes, and Richard settled on it, Christen standing before him. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“One day, Chrissy,” Richard gestured to the vast garden grounds, to the mansion glimmering with lights in the distance. “Everything that’s mine will be yours. Not because it’s your birthright—not because you’re my daughter. But because ever since you were a little girl, I could tell that you were special. The way you think, the way you talk, it sets you apart.” He patted the bench beside him, and she took a seat, resting her head on his shoulder like she used to when she was young. “I don’t even need to meet your teammates to know that they can’t hold a candle to you. I’m sure they’re nice girls who throw nice parties. But you—you are brilliant. You are a star.” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Richard took Christen’s chin in his hand and looked sternly into her eyes. “One day you will hold the world in the palm of your hand. Why waste your time on childish pursuits, on people who are not in your league and will soon mean nothing to you? I would prefer to see you making the wise, long-term, ambitious decision, like the smart girl I know you are. Was I wrong about you? Are you not capable of more?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen’s head spun. Her father had never spoken to her directly about his future plans for the company. Was he saying that she’d be in charge one day? Would Cassie and the other girls really mean nothing to her soon? Was she letting herself get distracted from what really mattered? </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>She looked out across the glittering grounds; she thought about the huge decisions her dad made every day. She thought about the meetings he took, with important old men in suits gathered around him, hanging onto his every word. Could that really all be hers? Was she deserving of it? Was she competent enough?</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“What kind of decisions do you think I should be making, Daddy?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>The gentle smile on his face told her that she’d asked the right question. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Let me tell you what I imagine for you: instead of frittering the days away playing soccer and spending time with children this summer, we can have you start to shadow me and some of the senior executives at the company. Maybe you want to spend some time in one of our foreign headquarters: Paris, or Tokyo, or Barcelona. You should start your training now, start thinking globally. When you’re running this company, Christen, you’ll be in the presence of presidents and kings. You should start thinking about the kind of changes you want to see in the world.” Then he shrugged. “But if you really want to go to this girl’s little birthday party, then we can make that happen. I’ll talk to your mother and she’ll come around. The choice is yours, Christen.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>The world seemed to spin and rearrange itself around Christen. She realized: the questions shouldn’t be whether the world could really be hers, whether she deserved it. It was up to her. She would <em>make</em> the world hers. She would make sure she deserved it. She would make sure she was prepared enough. If her daddy thought it was true, then it had to be true. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Barcelona sounds nice,” she admitted aloud. She imagined herself wandering through the beautiful parks and museums, or attending Barca games. For a second, she imagined herself in the Barca stadium with Cassie by her side—but she forced that thought away. Those were irresponsible, childish thoughts that needed to be suppressed. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“If we hired an advanced tutor, I could be speaking Business Spanish by May.” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Richard’s grin lit up his whole face. “That’s my smart girl.”</strong>
</p><p>--</p><p>Christen had only meant to pop into the bookstore for a second.</p><p>November settled cool and gray over Barberry Stone. Sick of reading the same books over and over, Christen had finally caved and ventured downtown on foot one Saturday. Other than quick trips to the grocery store early in the morning, she’d been avoiding areas where she’d be seen. Not that people were still inviting her to things anymore.</p><p>It was her first time stepping foot inside the used bookstore, though she’d passed it a hundred times. Becky, the owner, was perched on a stool behind the counter as she walked in, and gave her a friendly nod and wave. Luckily, she didn’t try to start a conversation.</p><p>Christen had only planned to stay a few minutes, but enthralled at the selection, she wandered farther and farther into the store, taking one, then two, then three books off the shelves. She’d totally lost track of time, fully immersed in a book of 18<sup>th</sup> century British poetry, when she heard her name whispered from behind a shelf.</p><p>“…Coach Channing’s just not doing well. We can tell. Can’t you tell? Isn’t it obvious?”</p><p>Christen froze, almost dropping the book.</p><p>The voice was unmistakably Rose’s.</p><p>“Well, it’s hard for me to tell. I haven’t seen Christen around for a while, to be honest.”</p><p>
  <em>Shit. Tobin?</em>
</p><p>“Exactly! Weren’t you guys friends? I thought you gave her a ride home from the festival back in September.” Now it was Lindsey speaking.</p><p>“I mean, I did, but…” Tobin’s voice trailed off. “I don’t know. I think we’re friends, but I’m not sure. What makes you guys think she’s not doing well? Is it the way she’s treating you?”</p><p>Christen felt herself puff up a little with indignity. As if she’d treat her girls poorly!</p><p>“No, no, nothing like that.” Christen felt vindicated when Lindsey immediately shot that idea down. “I mean, she’s amazing. She’s an incredible teacher and coach. But…there’s just been something off.”</p><p>“She looks sick. She looks like she’s wasting away,” Abby piped up. “And when you speak to her too loudly or too suddenly, she <em>jumps</em>. Like she’s terrified.”</p><p>“And sometimes when she thinks nobody sees, she looks off into the distance and looks kind of sad and scared. And she wasn’t like this in the beginning,” Rose said sadly. “We just weren’t sure if something was going on. We thought you or Miss Kelley might know.”</p><p>Christen felt her heart dropping down, down, down, through her stomach and her feet and through the floorboards, as she listened. Had she really been that obvious? Could even the girls tell that something was wrong? She knew she’d been avoiding the people her age, but she thought she was holding it together at school. She thought she’d been peppy and caring. The kids’ grades were great, they were winning all their games. <em>But they can tell. Even they can tell I’m losing my mind</em>.</p><p>“I’m sorry. I don’t know anything.” Without seeing Tobin’s face, it was hard for Christen to tell what she was thinking just from her words. “I just…I haven’t seen her. I haven’t talked to her at all recently.”</p><p>“Have you tried?” Lindsey begged. “Have you checked in with her?”</p><p>“I…” Tobin’s voice trailed off, sounding a little defeated. (Christen felt her phone burning in her pocket, where those few early, unanswered texts from Tobin were saved.) “Listen, it’s great that you all are noticing, and that you’re worried about Christen. I can’t say I haven’t noticed a change too. But honestly, I’ll be real, I don’t know if Christen wants hear from me, or any of us. She might think I’m bothering her.”</p><p>Hearing this should’ve made Christen feel satisfied. She’d played the game right; this was the exact reaction she wanted. For everyone to leave her alone. But then why did she feel like she was about to cry?</p><p>“But that’s what friends do, right?!” It was Sonny’s voice now, urgent and aggravated. “If she needs a friend, you should check in on how she’s doing anyways. Maybe you shouldn’t wait until she makes the first move.”</p><p>There was an extended pause. Tobin didn’t answer. Christen couldn’t bear to stay any longer. She slid her stack of books onto the nearest shelf and silently fled towards the door, towards the safety of home.</p><p>Like an idiot, she kept her phone near her, face-up, until she went to bed. Maybe Tobin would listen to the girls, and send her a text. Maybe she’d write, <em>hey, how’s it going? </em>Or<em>, just checking in. </em>Or, <em>haven’t see you around in a while</em>. And maybe if she did, Christen would answer her.</p><p>But Tobin never texted. And lying alone in bed that night, staring at the ceiling in her dark room, Christen hated herself for even hoping.</p><p>-<br/><strong>Christen was seventeen. </strong></p><p>
  <strong>She was seated in her study, surrounded by vintage books and marble statuettes. She was carefully pipetting a few drops of mineral water into her whiskey glass and holding the glass horizontally to her nose, letting the aromas rise. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“All right, Christen, so what are the notes you’re sensing?” Her instructor, David, asked. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>She gave it one more sniff. “Definitely orange. Maybe vanilla?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Absolutely right. Orange, a touch of vanilla.” David marked something in his tutoring ledger. “Go ahead and take a sip.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen obliged, letting the delicious whiskey fill her mouth. “Wow, interesting. I’m getting some figs and cherry?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Christen, pretty soon you’re not even going to need me anymore! Don’t tell your dad I said that, though,” David joked. He marked once more in his ledger before checking his watch and closing up the leather-bound book. “Well, it’s half past four already. You’ve got that big event tonight, right? We should probably ease up a little early today.” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Okay, fine,” Christen agreed reluctantly. Her whiskey and wine tasting tutoring sessions were some of the highlights of her week, and she hated to cut this one short. She grabbed the glass she was just trying, though, with a wink towards David. “Gonna take this one for the road, though.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Great choice, that’s the Glenmorangie Ealanta 1993 Private Edition. If you like it, I’ll drop a hint to your dad to stock up on it.” After David finished organizing bottles of whiskey back into his rolling bag, they stepped out into the red-carpeted, chandeliered hallway. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“David!” Richard, just rounding the corner, intercepted them outside the study. David was one of his old golfing buddies, who now ran a booming whiskey import business. “How are the sessions going? Chrissy, princess, what’s that in your hand?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Just a little party favor from the tasting session, Daddy.” Christen went up on her tiptoes to give her father a kiss on the cheek. “I’m going to head up to get ready for the party. Thanks so much, David, see you next week!”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“You spoil her, David,” Richard teased as Christen headed down the hallway. “You never used to let me take some of your precious whiskey with me when I left one of your dinner parties.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“She deserves it, that one,” David responded. Christen paused after she rounded the corner, curious to hear what her whiskey instructor had to say about her. “Seriously, I know I’ve said this a million times, but your girl’s incredibly impressive, Richard. Mature, eloquent, polite, smart as a whip. You and Tara have done an amazing job with her.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“I can’t take any credit, it’s all Christen, really,” Christen heard her father reply. “When that girl was just a kid, she was already begging to be more involved in the company. Did you know she asked to start attending meetings when she was ten, and then went out alone on her first international shadowing tour when she was just fourteen years old? Spent six months in Barcelona, absolutely thrived. All her idea. I couldn’t be prouder of her.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen felt the warm sensation of pride all the way down to her toes. Just like it felt when she was seven, the first time her father called her a genius. It never got old. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“And now she’s off to Stanford?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Yep. My god, the arm-wringing it took to get Tara to agree…you’d never believe it…” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen rolled her eyes and, sipping from her glass of whiskey, headed towards her room. She didn’t need to hear a recap of her mom’s hysterics at the very idea of Christen leaving for college; she’d lived through several excruciating months of them already. She was so lucky to have her dad on her side. Sure, she’d be living in a private apartment instead of the dorms, and she’d have to go by her fake name, but she was finally going.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>As she headed down another hallway, Christen heard some of the executive vice presidents’ voices. <em>Shit, they’re here so early</em>. She ducked behind one of the hanging drapes to wait until they passed. There was going to be an awful lot of socializing tonight, and she wanted to save her energy. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>But instead of passing, they paused. “I was planning on running something by Richard before the party.” One of them said to the other. “Is he here?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Yeah, I think a few minutes ago he was in his study. Just with the younger daughter, so you could head right on in if you wanted.” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>They proceeded down the hall, and she snuck safely upstairs. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>In her suite, she took a long, luxurious soak in the marble tub. She emerged wearing a fluffy robe to find that the maids had brought up a tray of cucumber finger sandwiches for her, which she snacked on as she methodically straightened her hair, applied her makeup, and slipped into a black Versace gown. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>If you asked Christen to describe her life in one sentence, she would say, “I’m the luckiest girl in the world.” With a doting and protective family, living on one of the poshest private properties in the entire country, private tutors, a closet full of designer clothes…what was there to complain about? She was incredibly blessed. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Not to mention the biggest blessing of all: Press Electronics. Since her father had officially begun grooming her for future takeover when she was fourteen, she had learned more and more about the company every year, and she absolutely thrived in it. She loved learning about every single aspect of the business. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>She wasn’t naïve, though. Being thrust into the business world so young had hardened her. She knew some executives at the company coveted the top spot and rooted for her failure. All the more reason to put her head down, work even harder, study even more, charm even more people. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>She couldn’t wait for the day that she could officially be announced to the world as her father’s successor. To stake that claim and triumph over her doubters. There was just one problem: her mother. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Paranoid as always</em></strong>
  <strong>. Christen shook her head as she clasped on dangling diamond earrings, put the finishing touches on her makeup, and headed downstairs. Richard loved Christen’s eagerness to get involved, but Tara always seemed to get in the way. She had insisted that Christen’s existence not be revealed to the world until Christen graduated college. She argued that this way, Christen could live a normal college life. Besides, Tara added, the scrutiny that the announcement would bring on the family was too soon for Mallory, who was only ten. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Richard had reluctantly agreed. “What your mother says goes, Chrissy,” he’d said the night of that particular argument. But he winked at her as if to say: <em>Don’t worry though, princess, I understand you</em>. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>And so this Stanford send-off party tonight, which Christen had dreamed would also be the night she was announced to the media, was going to be just the same old folks: the executive vice presidents and their spouses, the ones who had signed non-disclosure agreements years ago to keep the family’s secrets.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen slipped into her father’s study to fetch him, but it was dark except for the dim light from the green-shaded desk lamp in the corner. She was about to turn around when she heard voices rising and falling from the door leading to the adjacent sitting room. She headed towards it, but paused with her hand on the doorknob. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“She just wants to know that you love her.” That was her mother’s voice, high and pleading. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Of course I love Mallory!” Richard was obviously frustrated. “Honey, how could you even imply otherwise? Love is not the issue. Tara, it’s just a matter of priorities. I spend time with Christen because she’s the future of the company. She needs to be mentored.”</strong>
</p><p><strong> <em>Not this again</em> </strong> <strong>. </strong></p><p>
  <strong>For the past year, Tara and Richard’s arguments had increased in frequency, always about Mal. Christen loved Mal—of course, they were sisters—but she had never felt like they quite connected. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Maybe it was the age gap. Or maybe it was the fact that Christen had rarely been at home since she was ten and Mal was three. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>And honestly—she hated to admit it—but the more they fought about Mal, the more Christen resented her. She knew it wasn’t Mal’s fault; after all, she was just a little girl. But somehow, it felt like she was the cause of all this extra discord. Like if it weren’t for her, they’d just be a happy family. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Mal wants to learn!” Tara was saying. “Now that Christen is leaving for Stanford, you’ll have time freed up. Maybe Mal can start attending some of your business meetings with you.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“No, she’s too young.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Christen started attending those silly meetings with you when she was ten! Mal is ten now—"</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“And you argued at the time that Christen was too young, right? So why Mallory, now?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Tara huffed in frustration. “I just want them to be treated fairly by you, and I’m not seeing that.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Tara, listen. Bringing Christen to those meetings? That wasn’t just for her to observe the executives. Of course not. That was also for the executives to observe her. To make the definitive statement: <em>Richard Press’s daughter has what it takes</em>.” Richard’s voice was rising in exasperation. “I can’t bring Mallory. She doesn’t have what it takes. It would be an embarrassment to me.” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“An embarrassment?” Tara exclaimed. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“We’ve been fair, Tara,” Richard said. “We’ve given her everything Christen had at the same age: the same tutors, the same schedule. And Mallory hasn’t been able to keep up. Not even close.” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“She needs you to believe in her! A child needs to know their parent has faith in them. You’ve made it perfectly clear through the years that you don’t.” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Faith needs to be earned. Christen has earned it. <em>Christen</em> is the future of Press Electronics.” Richard’s tone was final. There was a rustle and a loud clunk, and Christen knew Richard was putting his newspaper and whiskey glass down. It was his way of saying the conversation was over. Their voices faded as they exited from the sitting room into the hallway. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen stood frozen. Her father was strict, sure. He had high standards, and he was a disciplinarian. But at the end of the day he was a kind, loving, family man. Had he really called Mal an <em>embarrassment</em>? That was so unlike him. She couldn’t quite believe her ears.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>There was a thud from the direction of the windows. Christen whirled around, hand on her heart.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Mal was sitting there, curled up in the dark on the window seat. An open book was splayed pages-down on the ground next to her.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>She must’ve heard everything. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Mal—hey—” Christen stammered. Years of distance, of a relationship built on hurried hellos as they passed each other in the mansion hallways, rendered her stiff and awkward.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Mallory turned her face from Christen, looking out the window. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“He…” Christen’s mind raced. She headed hesitantly towards Mal, pausing to pick up the book from where it had fallen. “Listen, I’m sure he didn’t mean it in a bad way.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Mean it in a bad way?” Mal scoffed, harshly raking the sleeve of her sweatshirt over her eyes. “He said I’m an embarrassment. Tell me how that could possibly be meant in a good way.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“I know, but…” Christen floundered. There had to be some reason. Some justification. She stared down at her little sister, her curly hair in two short braids, her cheeks and hands still childishly round. She couldn’t find the words. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Just go, Christen.” The bitterness in Mal’s voice made her sound much older than her ten years. She snatched her book out of Christen’s limp hand. “Just fucking go.” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Mal, language!”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Whatever,” Mal muttered. “Dad says fuck all the time.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Daddy never uses inappropriate language,” Christen defended automatically. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Not at you, he doesn’t.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen again was caught off guard. She opened her mouth, thinking of what to say, when the door of the study suddenly creaked open. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Christen?” It was one of her dad’s assistants. “Richard’s looking for you everywhere. The party’s already begun, in the dining room.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Just a second—”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“He wants to head in, Christen, <em>now</em>.”</strong>
</p><p><strong>Christen let out an exasperated sigh. She placed her hand on Mal’s little head for one fleeting moment. “I’ll come find you later, okay? We’ll talk later. </strong> <strong>Love you, Mal."</strong></p><p>
  <strong>A ghost of a smile appeared on Mal's face, and she nodded. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen was distracted all through dinner, then drinks. Nobody could tell.  She was so good at networking, so gracious and attentive in social situations, that she could cover any nerves with perfect ease. She joked around with the executives and their spouses, and engaged in little business conversations on the side. Richard made a rousing toast to her, boasting of her Stanford acceptance and her future leadership, and Christen performed the role of the modest daughter perfectly, laughing and shaking her head and looking humbly down into her lap as appropriate. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Only one person could tell that something was off.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Christen, what has gotten into you?” Late in the night, Richard pulled Christen off to the side. Half-hidden in the draperies, he stared down at her, displeased. “Is everything all right? You’re not focused.” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“I’m perfectly fine, Daddy,” Christen reassured him. Her bright smile seemed to sooth some of the worry lines on his forehead. “But…I was hoping to just run upstairs for just a few minutes. I think Mal…” Her courage failed her, and she pivoted to a white lie. “Mal was feeling a little sick earlier, and I just wanted to check in on her. Make sure she’s doing okay.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Richard was careful not to frown where other people could see them, but Christen could tell by the subtle tightening around his mouth that he didn't like what he was hearing. “Come now, princess, you know we have nurses for that. If you're worried, send someone up to check on her. It’s important that you’re here, that you stay present. These are the most important people at the company.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>For a fleeting moment, Christen remembered the way that Richard had sat by her bedside for hours when she had the flu as a child. <em>What's the difference here? Is it because Mal is an "embarrassment"?</em><br/></strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“You’re still worried,” Richard observed, peering down at her. He paused a moment, and then said, “Christen, you have a kind heart. That’s fantastic. But you know what the most important thing you can do for Mal is?” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>He put a comforting arm around her shoulder and gestured out at the room. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“It’s doing <em>this</em>, right here. People like Mal, like your mother…you're right, they need to be taken care of. And it’s people like you and me who have the responsibility to take care of them. To give them the life, the luxuries, and the care that they deserve so much. And as such, the best use of your time and efforts, <em>always</em>, is to keep Press Electronics running successfully. In the short term, that means staying right here and networking instead of abandoning your duties. In the long term, that’ll be good for Mal. You’re her big sister, you need to take care of her in the future. Provide her the resources that she needs.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong><em>Yes.</em> Christen looked into her father's confident, kind, reassuring face. <em>Does that make sense? I think that makes sense</em></strong>
  <strong>. Christen nodded a little, thinking of her mother’s paranoia, and little Mal, frail and uncertain. They needed someone to take care of them. Christen mentally kicked herself for not being more responsible, and for not thinking of the long-term, like her father always did so well. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>But a tiny, wavering bit of uncertainty and suspicion flickered inside her, like a weak candle flame, as Richard took her by the arm and led her back out into the bustling room. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>Am I really doing the right thing? </em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong><em>Is this really good advice?</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Have you met Winston Ashby? He’s our newly hired Senior Vice President of Supply Chain. Winston, come here for a second! This is my girl, Christen, my little genius.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen felt a switch inside her turn on. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>She was Christen Press, daughter of Richard Press. His star, his genius. His heir to the Press Electronics throne. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>She smiled a brilliant smile. She introduced herself. She gave a firm handshake.<br/></strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>The little flame of doubt blew out into a wisp of disappearing smoke. </strong>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks for reading! &lt;3 Please let me know if you liked it -- I'm so curious about everyone's reactions.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She hadn’t expected to buy a car so soon, but when she saw it parked outside the auto repair shop one day, it seemed like fate.</p><p>It was a late November Saturday, freezing cold already. Christen was hustling back home from Moe’s Grocer, paper bags gripped in numb fingers. <em>Jesus, I didn’t realize it was possible to be so cold</em>, she complained internally as the wind whipped around her thin jacket. Southern California was perpetually balmy. (And Christen Press had perpetually existed in perfectly temperature-controlled environments.)  Shivering, she decided to try out a shortcut around the back of the store.</p><p>The shortcut led her down a side street she’d never seen, and that’s when she saw it. In the parking lot of Barberry Stone Auto Repair, there was an inconspicuous, slightly beat up little blue sedan, with a sign propped in the windshield. $3000.</p><p>Half curious, half just looking for an excuse to put her groceries down and warm up her fingers in her pockets, Christen paused in front of the car. It looked serviceable. It couldn’t hold a candle next to her old BMW convertible, but that was a good thing. Her new car had to be one that could believably fit into a small-town Spanish teacher’s salary.</p><p>“You interested?”</p><p>Christen jumped, her hand flying to her chest. She turned to see Ali’s girlfriend, Ashlyn, standing near here.</p><p>“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” she added in a low drawl, surveying Christen up and down a little skeptically, as if she were a skittish wild animal. Her voice always surprised Christen, slower and sweeter than you’d expect.</p><p>“You work here?” Christen’s eyes flashed up to the auto shop sign and back. She’d had a few conversations with Ashlyn, but the topic of jobs must never have come up. Then, trying to cover in case that had come out rude, she added, “Because I am interested, so that’d be perfect.”</p><p>As Ashlyn ran through the details of the used car, Christen tuned out a little. Honestly, she didn’t know or care much about cars. And if this one broke down, she could easily buy another. She found herself a little intimidated by Ashlyn, by the skeptical look in her eyes, and the way she was wearing a t-shirt even in the freezing cold, and her many tattoos. (Christen had never seen a tattoo up close before moving to Barberry Stone.)</p><p>And her mind whirred with the information that Ali, a doctor, was dating Ashlyn, a car mechanic. She wondered what Ali’s family thought. She wondered how her family would react if she had come home one day and announced that she was dating a car mechanic. Her mother probably would’ve fainted dead away.</p><p>“So, what do you think?”</p><p>Oops, Ashlyn had finished explaining, and Christen hadn’t heard a word.</p><p>“Uh, sounds great, I’ll take it.”</p><p>Ashlyn’s eyebrows rose, and Christen realized that maybe she had seemed too offhand, too casual about spending money. Was this another rich girl giveaway? “It’s just been so awful being without a car,” she tacked on. “I’ve really been stressing about it since the accident. It’ll be nice to have one again.”</p><p>Ashlyn’s eyes softened as they walked into the store to finalize the sale. “I remember Ali mentioning that accident. It must’ve been awful for you, and being new in town and all. How have you been doing since?”</p><p>“So much better! It’s been great,” Christen chirped, finding it easy at this point to trot out the same old hollow lies.</p><p>Ashlyn looked as if she wasn’t fooled. (Christen wasn’t sure if it was because she looked like death on two legs, or if Ashlyn had heard through the grapevine that other people in town thought Christen was off her rocker.) Nevertheless, she rang Christen up and had her sign the paperwork without another word.</p><p>But then, as they walked back out to the car, just as Christen was about to breathe out a sigh of relief, Ashlyn suddenly said, “Hey, I don’t know you all that well, Christen. But don’t be a stranger, okay? I’ve heard great things about you. I hope you’ll hang out with us more in the future.”</p><p>Christen froze. She’d gotten so used to being invisible, for better or worse. Kelley and the others had entirely stopped asking her to hang out. And Tobin…</p><p>Christen had bumped into Tobin on the street last week. Caught off guard, Christen had stammered out a brief hello, her heart pounding the whole time with the desperate hope that Tobin would say something nice. <em>After all, the girls asked Tobin to check up on me. And she still hasn’t checked up on me</em>.</p><p>But Tobin hadn’t said a thing. She’d stopped stock-still on the sidewalk and let a whistle die on her lips, studying Christen as if conflicted—eyebrows pinching towards each other, mouth just slightly open, eyes dazed. When Christen greeted her, she’d just nodded, then stepped to the side with a gesture that Christen should pass.</p><p>It couldn’t have been obvious, or final. Tobin was not interested in checking up on her or being her friend. Christen had hurried off from the encounter with a lump building in her throat and tears building in her eyes. When she snuck a final departing glance over her shoulder, Tobin was already surrounded by a couple other townspeople, chatting gaily away.</p><p>But now: just when she’d spent the ensuing week becoming resigned to her lonely reality, here was Ashlyn, offering friendship again with an open hand, all kind and sincere.</p><p>“Thanks,” Christen croaked. Embarrassed at the sudden heat behind her eyes, predicting tears, she pasted on a smile as Ashlyn handed the keys over.</p><p>After Ashlyn headed back inside, Christen set her groceries in the backseat and took a seat at the wheel. She took a deep breath. She ran her fingertips over the steering wheel. The last time she’d been in the driver’s seat of a car, three months ago, was when she’d catapulted off the cliff. She clenched her eyes shut, trying desperately to remember what happened. Hazy memories seemed to swirl just below the surface of her recollection. She couldn’t recall. All she remembered, still, was the view of the valley, then the feeling of tipping off the road, and then nothing. Just darkness, until she opened her eyes in the hospital.</p><p>Instead of driving home, as planned, she found herself on the highway towards Salem.</p><p>It was too early, visiting hours wouldn’t begin for another hour. But Christen, after many visits, had learned the layout and rhythms of the Salem hospital well enough to sneak in. She strode confidently past the front desk while the receptionist’s head was turned and made it, unscathed, up to Pia’s room.</p><p>It was the first time, since the very first visit with Tobin, that she’d been able to be alone with Pia. She pulled an armchair right up to the edge of Pia’s bed and curled up in it. She held Pia’s cool, wrinkly, soft hand in her own and stared into her face—so seemingly placid. She shut her eyes tight and listened to the soft beep of machinery and wished for some of Pia’s wisdom to transfer over to her.</p><p><em>Please, please, please. I’m so lost. Please tell me what I should do</em>.</p><p>Pia’s face stayed smooth and expressionless. Christen didn’t feel any magical enlightenment. She rested her cheek against her knees and let the tears come.</p><p>After a long while of just sitting there, knees drawn up to her chest in the lumpy armchair, she realized that the hubbub from the hallway outside was getting increasingly louder. <em>Visiting hours must be starting</em>. Not wanting to run into anyone she knew, she got up to go, giving Pia’s hand one final squeeze. <em>I’ll be back soon, okay?</em></p><p>After using the nearest ladies’ room, Christen stared at herself in the mirror under the harsh fluorescent lights. There was a gray cast to her skin, and dark, wrinkly bags under her eyes from months of lack of proper sleep. She cupped her own face in her hands. Her skin felt fragile and thin under her palms.</p><p>Mal had been on the cover of <em>Forbes</em> magazine last week, her highest-profile media appearance yet. The article had gushed, for pages and pages, about Mal’s recent successes and the way that she was intricately involved in every aspect of the company’s decision-making. Christen had read it over and over, searching for hints of—of what? Even she wasn’t quite sure what she was looking for, but whatever it was, she knew she came away empty-handed and frustrated.</p><p>The article was full of glossy, high-resolution photos of Mal’s fierce, determined, glowing face. Christen knew that Mal had always been the pretty one in the family, but her predominant memories of Mal were faded around the edges. She remembered little Mal as a hunched figure: furtive, frowning, quiet, unsure of herself. While Christen had been the one in the spotlight.</p><p>She thought of the powerful photos of Mal in Forbes. She studied her own gaunt, sad face in the mirror. <em>How the tables have turned</em>.</p><p>When she reached the front doors of the hospital, she was dismayed to find that it had started pouring rain. It was dusk, and the streetlamps overhead were flickering in the gathering darkness. She pulled her jacket in tight around her and took a deep breath, getting ready to sprint.</p><p>But as she stood right on the threshold, trying to muster up the willpower to run out into the downpour, she saw in the distance a figure, sprinting across the parking lot from an all-too-familiar green truck towards the sliding glass doors. <em>Tobin.</em> <em>Of course, just my luck</em>. Since that day on the sidewalk when Tobin had basically ignored her, Christen had tried her best to banish any thought of the other girl.</p><p>Christen glanced around frantically, but the wide-open hospital lobby full of low benches and flimsy fake plants afforded nowhere to hide. And before she knew it, Tobin was running up to the door, yanking her soaked black beanie off her head and wiping rainwater off her face.</p><p>She looked up, saw Christen standing there. Her mouth fell open a little, and her hand froze on her forehead, mid-wipe. “Hi,” she said hesitantly.</p><p>“Hi,” Christen answered automatically. Her tongue felt thick and stupid in her mouth.</p><p>“How are you?” Tobin asked. Her face took on the same strange expression as that day they’d run into each other on the sidewalk: a little hesitant, a little uncomfortable. <em>Like she wants to get away from me as fast as possible</em>, Christen thought. Christen watched as she flipped her wet hair over her shoulder and wrung it out with her long, lithe fingers.</p><p>“Um, good. Great. I’m just here because I’m visiting Pia.” Christen cursed herself internally as soon as the stupid, obvious words were out. <em>Of course you’re here visiting Pia, you idiot, why else would you be here?</em></p><p>Tobin just frowned, and nodded her head a little—but then something distracted her, and her gaze lifted over Christen’s shoulder. Christen turned to follow the direction Tobin was looking.</p><p>It was the blonde girl in scrubs from before. Christen had seen her around the hospital a few times on visits to Pia. Tobin hadn’t been around during those visits, which had made the girl seem kind of harmless and bland. She didn’t seem so harmless now. She was gesturing for Tobin to walk over to her. She had an enticing, almost seductive look on her face. She didn’t acknowledge Christen’s presence at all.</p><p><em>Oh</em>. Christen suddenly felt a horrible, leaden feeling deep in her stomach. She wondered if the girl had been there for a while, waiting for Tobin to arrive. She wondered, with a feeling akin to nausea, if Tobin was here to see the girl. <em>I should leave. I’m definitely interrupting something. I should leave, right now</em>.</p><p>“Well, good seeing you. Bye, Tobin.” Christen raised one hand in a weak wave, and without waiting for a response, dashed out into the downpour.</p><p>As she ran through the freezing rain, she berated herself for her emotional weakness. She thought she’d been good at holding everything together in recent weeks. Maybe it was the unexpected kindness from Ashlyn earlier; maybe it had broken her, in some strange way.</p><p><em>You’ve avoided Tobin for over a month. You’ve ignored her texts. Feeling jealous now is pathetic and selfish. She’s allowed to date someone else. In fact, you should want her to date someone else.</em> Halfway across the parking lot, Christen’s foot sank into a puddle deeper than expected, and she almost tripped. Regaining her balance just in time to avoid faceplanting, she caught a glimpse of her pathetic, wet reflection in the muddy water.</p><p>The realization hit her as she shook her head and ran on: <em>Why would Tobin want someone like you anyway? You’re not Christen Press anymore, with your diamonds and maids and ridiculous, unwarranted confidence. You’re Kristen Channing. Kristen Channing is an awkward, ugly loner on the run. Kristen Channing doesn’t deserve someone like Tobin Heath. One day soon, you’re going to leave Barberry Stone, never to come back. Tobin is going to stay. She’s going to have this whole community that loves her. She’s going to date an uncomplicated, good, friendly person. She’s going to get married to them and forget you ever existed—</em></p><p>Reaching her car, Christen scrubbed her jacket sleeves roughly across her face, not sure if she was wiping away rain or tears at this point. She fumbled with the unfamiliar manual keys, trying to figure out which one to try in the lock.</p><p>Then suddenly, there was a rush of approaching footsteps splashing in the rain, and a dark figure loomed up right behind her, out of nowhere—</p><p>Christen emitted an embarrassing little shriek and ducked. But when she caught her breath, she realized: it was Tobin.</p><p>Tobin, with hood up and shoulders hunched against the rain, soaked to the skin and panting for breath, was here, standing next to Christen’s car.</p><p>“Tobin, what are you doing out here? Are you all right?” Christen had to raise her voice a little to be heard over the downpour.</p><p>Now that Tobin had made not one, but two rainy trips across the parking lot, she was literally dripping. Water ran in rivulets down the side of her neck and in little beads of water off the ends of her hair. (Christen’s eyes flitted down, unconsciously, to trace the clear outline of her black sports bra under her soaking white t-shirt, then immediately snapped back up before Tobin could notice.)</p><p>“Yeah. I’m good. Sorry, didn’t meant to scare you.” Tobin said. A crack of thunder interrupted her. “I just wanted to ask how you’re doing.”</p><p>“Wait…what?” Christen was still trying to grasp the fact that Tobin was in front of her, talking to her. <em>Tobin chased me down across a parking lot to ask…how I’m doing?</em></p><p>“Yeah, how are you?” Tobin was talking like a woman on a mission, voice clear and assertive. Lightning overhead lit up the determined expression in her eyes. “Now that I’m here, this is starting to seem pretty stupid. But, hell, whatever. I just wanted to ask how you’re doing. I should’ve asked you just now. Actually, I should’ve asked you a long time ago.”</p><p>Christen couldn’t speak. As she registered Tobin’s words, a tiny spark of happiness was starting to radiate through her chest, so sharp and strong it frightened her.</p><p>At Christen’s silence, Tobin continued on, impatiently swiping rainwater out of her eyes. “I mean, I know I asked you in there, like, ‘how are you’ or something generic like that. But I feel like that doesn’t count as actually checking in on someone. Lately, you don’t seem to be doing so well. Sorry if that’s intrusive to say, or whatever. Go ahead and yell at me if you want. But that’s just what I’ve noticed.” Tobin seemed to be running out of steam a little. She shoved her hands into her dripping-wet jacket pockets and continued: “So, I was just wondering if you needed someone to talk to. Like, a friend. Because, I know you said earlier that you’re doing great. But just in case, I wanted to make sure you’re really doing okay. Because I’m here. If you need me.” Tobin coughed self-consciously. She was rambling at this point. “You know, if you’re not doing great. Like you said you were.”</p><p>After the first shock had worn off, Christen automatically knew the right thing to do, what a responsible, safe, risk-averse girl would do. <em>Tobin isn’t yours to have</em>, <em>it’s too dangerous</em>, that familiar little voice said, sounding suspiciously like her mother. <em>You need to let her go</em>.  </p><p>But that voice was being washed away by a louder, more insistent, more primal urge. A new sensation, one that was shouting over the rain, <em>I’m sick of being alone. I’m sick of being lonely. I’m sick of always doing the right thing. For once, just once in my god-damned life, I want to choose something just because I want it.</em></p><p>Lightning split the sky overhead again. Tobin’s face was falling. She’d started strong, but the cracks were showing, and Christen could now tell that the other girl was as nervous as she was. “Please say something,” Tobin said hesitantly, her voice half drowned out by the rain.</p><p>Christen felt herself physically shaking. Whether it was from the freezing rain or her rush of emotions, she couldn’t tell. All she knew was that the new, stronger voice inside her was insisting: <em>You want Tobin. You know you want her</em>.</p><p>“Okay.” A myriad of emotions were flashing across Tobin’s face now: frustration, concern, doubt, embarrassment. “…maybe I misread things. Sorry. I’ll leave you alone, Christen.”</p><p>She started jogging off, back in the direction of the hospital.</p><p>
  <em>Don’t let her walk away, Christen, you idiot.</em>
</p><p>She knew this was her last chance.</p><p>“Wait!”</p><p>The shouted word felt like release:</p><p>Like water bursting out of a popped balloon. Like the opening whistle of a championship game. Like a parachute, finally unfurling from its pack, mid free-fall.</p><p>“Please, don’t leave.” The words tumbled out of Christen’s mouth, instinctively, before she could overthink them.</p><p>Tobin was still turning around, hope lighting up her eyes, when Christen barreled into her embrace. The force of the hug sent Tobin stumbling back a few steps. Her arms came up around Christen’s shoulders automatically, holding her tight as if they’d been doing this for a thousand years.</p><p>The placement was a little awkward—Christen’s hands clutching desperately onto Tobin’s shoulders, her bent arms caught between their torsos—but as Tobin’s arms squeezed her tighter and tighter still, Christen knew she wouldn’t trade this sensation for anything.</p><p>In so many ways, she hadn’t let someone this close to her for so long.</p><p>They stood for a while there, just rocking back and forth. Christen buried her face in the warm crook of Tobin’s neck, where she could literally feel Tobin’s racing heartbeat through her cheek, and Tobin stroked her hand over Christen’s wet hair over and over as Christen shivered. Christen noticed that the rain was starting to recede into a light drizzle.</p><p>When Christen’s arm started to fall asleep, she reluctantly pushed back a little, and Tobin let her go. “Sorry,” Christen said ashamedly. “I didn’t mean to just throw myself at you—”</p><p>“Are you kidding? That’s the last thing you need to apologize for.” Tobin’s smile was so soft, so sweet, so warm. “Christen, seriously. You know I’m—we’re all here for you, right? For a hug. For a talk. Whatever.”</p><p>“Thanks.” Christen took a deep breath.</p><p>She wanted this. But she couldn’t just let Tobin and the others walk into this blind.</p><p>“But there’s something I want to warn you about.”</p><p>Tobin’s brow creased with worry, but she waited patiently.</p><p>“I…” <em>Here goes</em>. “You’re right. I haven’t been in a good place recently. That’s probably been obvious.”</p><p>Christen paused, debating how much to say. It obviously couldn’t be <em>everything</em>. But it had to be enough to give Tobin a real choice, eyes wide open. Christen kept her eyes trained on the mist falling on the asphalt all around them, and began slowly:</p><p>“You were right, a few months ago, when you said I didn’t seem happy when I got here. I was struggling. I still am, and I probably will continue to. It wasn’t just the car accident, it was…other stuff.” She had never said words so honest aloud to anybody before. “But my problems are my problems. I didn’t want to make them anyone else’s problems. I didn’t want anyone else to feel like they needed to deal with me and deal with all my shit. Including you. Especially you.” <em>Especially when that shit involves actual danger</em>.</p><p>Christen finally lifted her eyes, large and imploring and sad, to meet Tobin’s. “So, here’s fair warning, I guess: I’m kind of a mess. I have a lot of baggage. And there’s a lot that I still might not even be able to talk about. And I thought that—well, I still think that—other people wouldn’t want to be bothered with all that. So I really, really appreciate you checking in on me…” Christen’s voice was starting to waver at the thought of Tobin walking out of her life again, but she pressed on. Giving Tobin this choice was the responsible thing to do. “But I think…I think I might be a hard person to be friends with. So you don’t have to do it, if you don’t want to.”</p><p>Christen noticed that as she talked, a frown had started growing on Tobin’s face.</p><p>She braced herself and looked away and waited for Tobin to nod in acknowledgement, to recognize what a mess Christen was, to walk away for good.</p><p>“What are you doing Thursday?”</p><p>“…what?”</p><p>“Thursday.” Tobin repeated. Tenderly, she reached out and brushed away a few wet hairs stuck to Christen’s cheek. “It’s Thanksgiving. Do you have any plans?”</p><p>“No, I guess not…” Christen’s heart beat fast with hope.</p><p>“Come with me to Ali’s. She’s having us over for dinner—just a few of us; Ashlyn, me, Pinoe. I’ll come pick you up at five.”</p><p>“Really?” Christen asked hesitantly, hopefully. But her etiquette got the best of her. “I won’t be intruding or anything? If Ali wasn’t planning on inviting me…”</p><p>“Not an issue at all,” Tobin said earnestly. “Ali would love to have you, I know that for a fact. She’s been worried about you. And I really want you there. Please come.”</p><p>Christen couldn’t help the shy smile that spread across her face. “Okay. Great. Okay, that sounds like fun.”</p><p>“It’ll be fun.” Tobin’s smile mirrored Christen’s own. “Pinky promise me you’ll go.”</p><p>“What?” Christen giggled, feeling lighter than air.</p><p>“Pinky promise.” Tobin held up her pinky, her face suddenly serious. “Can’t have you disappearing on me again, Christen. I hear what you’re saying, but I want to be friends, and I’m here for good if you are. So, promise me.”</p><p>Christen looped their pinkies together. After the cold rain, Tobin’s skin against hers felt especially warm and comforting. Tobin must’ve thought the same thing, because she impulsively gathered Christen in for another hug. Feeling the way Christen melted into her, she squeezed harder. “I’m here, okay?” She whispered in Christen’s ear.</p><p>“Okay,” Christen said softly.</p><p>The sun was starting to break out from behind the clouds: weak and watery, but bright.</p><hr/><p>
  <em>This is not a date.</em>
</p><p>Christen told herself this sternly as she paced by the front window, anxiously smoothing down the front of her dress with slightly sweaty palms.</p><p>
  <em>This is not a date.</em>
</p><p>She checked the time: Tobin was due to arrive any second. She ticked off her mental list: coat draped over the back of the couch, high heels by the door, and pecan pie (bought from Moe’s) waiting on the kitchen table for Thanksgiving dessert.</p><p><em>This is not a date. And honestly, thank God it isn’t</em>.</p><p>If Tobin had, that day in the parking lot, said, “Hey, will you go on a date with me?”, Christen probably would’ve devolved into utter panic and scurried back into her metaphorical cave. She knew that dating anyone in Barberry Stone, with her checkered past and volatile life, was out of the question. Instead, Tobin had invited to her Thanksgiving, with friends. She had said, “I want to be friends.”</p><p>And Christen had said, <em>okay</em>.</p><p>And then she had giggled to herself, the whole drive home from the Salem hospital.</p><p>An irrepressible smile tugged on the edges of her mouth just thinking about the happiness of the memory. She literally put her palms against her cheeks, to drag the smile down a little.</p><p>
  <em>Get ahold of yourself, Christen. You’re a grown woman…</em>
</p><p>Tobin’s headlights rounded the corner and pulled to a stop in the driveway.</p><p><em>…and remember, this is NOT a date</em>.</p><p>Overcome with sudden doubt, she dashed back into the bathroom to check her reflection one more time. This was the first time she’d dressed up, or worn any significant amount of makeup, since arriving in Barberry Stone. A few coats of mascara and a swipe of gold eyeshadow made her ocean green eyes look huge and vivid. She’d sprayed on a little bit of her favorite Dolce &amp; Gabbana perfume. She wore a little black A-line dress, delicate and lacy around the shoulders and falling to mid-thigh. She always loved this dress because of the way the folds swished when she moved. It seemed like a happy sound.</p><p>(She’d never worn this dress outside of trying it on in her LA bedroom before. It wasn’t exactly appropriate for board meetings.)</p><p>She studied herself in the mirror. She smiled. This wasn’t the Christen of the previous months, haunted and on the verge of breakdown. It wasn’t the Christen of her past life, hard and glittering and polished. It was someone new. <em>Uncertain…but happy. Is that even possible?</em></p><p>The doorbell rang. Christen scurried to throw on her coat and open the door. <em>This is not a—</em></p><p>“Hi, Chris—<em>whoa—</em>” Tobin was holding flowers. Holding flowers and staring at Christen with open awe.</p><p>
  <em>This is not a date this is not a date this is not a date— </em>
</p><p>“Hi,” Tobin repeated. She held out the bunch of flowers—peachy-colored roses—and said, “Um, these are for you. Happy Thanksgiving.”</p><p>“Wow, thanks,” Christen said shyly. Her heart was beating wildly. “Do you want to come in for a second? I’ll put them in water.”</p><p>Tobin followed her over the threshold. As Christen hunted through the kitchen cabinets for a vase in vain, finally settling on an old cracked pitcher, Tobin whistled softly to herself and glanced around the open space. If the barrenness of the room—basically as spotless and drab as the day Christen moved in—struck her, she didn’t say anything. But she did smile at the sight of huge stuffed dog from the fair, perched on Christen’s couch.</p><p>“All right, ready.” Christen placed the roses in the vase and dusted off her hands.</p><p>She hoped that Tobin didn’t notice her blush when Tobin gallantly opened the passenger side door for her and helped her up into the seat. But then—</p><p>Oh. There was another bunch of roses, identical to the ones for Christen, on the floor beside the driver’s seat.</p><p>For Ali, as a hostess gift, no doubt. Roses for everyone, not just for her. Her heart sunk a little.</p><p><em>This is not a date</em>, she reminded herself, more forcefully than before.</p><p><em>You should just be grateful</em>, she mused, staring at the houses they passed in the twilight. Each one was glowing with golden light from within, silhouetting shadows of happy, whole families against the windowpanes. <em>You should be happy that Tobin is giving you the gift of not being alone on Thanksgiving, as you deserve to be</em>.</p><p>When they got to Ali’s house, a stately white-brick colonial in a fancier part of town, Tobin led the way to the front door, turned the golden doorknob, and let them right in without knocking.</p><p>Christen stood frozen on the stoop between two fancy potted shrubs. Tobin was already in the spacious, high-ceilinged foyer, with two adorable dogs wagging their tails and sniffing around her ankles. Christen could hear music and laughter emanating from somewhere inside. “Can we just walk in like this?” she couldn’t stop herself from whispering. She wanted to follow Tobin’s lead, but strolling into someone’s house without knocking was almost too much for her impeccable etiquette training to handle.</p><p>“Don’t worry, I’m literally here all the time. Sometimes I just let myself in and sleep on their couch…” Tobin cut herself off, looking a little embarrassed. “Sorry. Is that weird?”</p><p>“No!” Christen exclaimed. <em>I mean, yes, that’s a little weird. But also, strangely, kind of endearing. </em></p><p>(This is how Christen could tell she was changing. If someone had told teenage Christen that they let themselves into friends’ houses to sleep on the sofa, she would’ve branded them as a psycho and assiduously avoided them for the rest of her life. But somehow, with Tobin, it seemed fine. Tobin made everything seem fine.)</p><p>“Here, let me take your coat,” Tobin changed the subject. She turned to hang her puffy orange jacket in the closet, and for the first time, Christen got a good look at what she was wearing. Black jeans, the tightest pants she’d ever seen Tobin wear, hugged every line and sinew of her legs. She wore a billowy white blouse, kind of pirate-y, loosely tucked in, and high-heeled booties. Her hair, as usual, hung effortlessly chic and wavy down her back.</p><p>She turned back towards Christen.</p><p>(Christen had to physically restrain her jaw from dropping open when she saw how the blouse, top buttons undone, cut in a deep V down Tobin’s tanned chest.)</p><p>Tearing her eyes away, she wiggled her black peacoat coat off her shoulders and handed it to Tobin.</p><p>For the first time, Tobin got a good look at what Christen was wearing.</p><p>(But Christen was looking off into the distance, willing herself not to actively check Tobin out again. So she missed the way that Tobin bit down on her lip, <em>hard</em>—the way that Tobin’s eyes got wide and dark and dangerous at the sight of wispy black lace around Christen’s collarbones, her endlessly long legs and stilettos.)</p><p>By the time Christen glanced back, Tobin had turned back towards the closet and was casually whistling and hanging up Christen’s coat next to her own.</p><p>“Tobin! Christen! Happy Thanksgiving!” Ali rounded the corner into the foyer. “Tobes, letting yourself into our house without permission again, are you?”</p><p>Tobin shot Christen a wide-eyed, innocent look. “Please, Ali,” she begged, “tell Christen you’re joking so she doesn’t think I’m a barbarian.”</p><p>“She’s totally joking. Mi casa es su casa.” Ashlyn boomed, following on Ali’s heels with Pinoe not far behind her. “That’s correct Spanish, right? Shoot, there’s an actual Spanish teacher here to judge me. Christen, hi! Great to see you, you look amazing!”</p><p>Ali and Ashlyn’s huge smiles and effusive welcomes put Christen at ease immediately. They cooed over Christen’s pie and Tobin’s flowers, and ushered them in a whirlwind of hugs and jokes into the kitchen, where they gathered around the marble-topped island.</p><p>“A couple last things are still in the oven, but we’ll be ready to eat in a flash,” Ali promised.</p><p>“In the meantime, we’ve started drinking.” Pinoe brandished her whiskey glass. “Anything for you girls?”</p><p>Tobin went for a beer, and Christen gratefully went for a whiskey. Out of habit, she gave it a sniff. <em>A little fruity, smoky oak, pretty cheap stuff</em>, her brain plugged in automatically, subconsciously.</p><p>“Do we have a whiskey connoisseur on our hands?” Pinoe teased, eyeing Christen’s motions. Tobin’s eyes were on her too, curious.</p><p>“Oh, no, not at all, I don’t know a thing about whiskey,” Christen lied with a self-conscious giggle she hoped was convincing. She cast her eyes around the bright, high-ceilinged kitchen, searching for a change of topic. There were plates of classic Thanksgiving dishes lining the counters already, and the evidence of cooking was piled high in the sink and dishwasher. Delicious aromas were emanating from the oven and stovetop. “Thanks again for having us over. It looks like you guys put a ton of work into this. Everything looks amazing! And Ali, your place is beautiful.”</p><p>“Ali has the one of the nicest places in Barberry Stone,” Ashlyn boasted, leaning over to plant a kiss on Ali’s cheek.</p><p>Ali rolled her eyes and waved the comment off. “Stop exaggerating. It’s not as nice as the Morgan’s place.”</p><p>“Well, we mere mortals cannot hope to compete with the great Morgans,” Pinoe joked. “Christen, have you been over to Alex’s house yet? Well, I guess it’s her parents’ house. Biggest house you’ll ever see in your life.”</p><p>“No, I haven’t seen it yet,” Christen said. But she added loyally, “I bet it’s not as nicely decorated as Ali’s, though.”</p><p>Ali beamed with pride. Christen felt the tiniest smidge more like her old charming, social self, the girl who always knew the right thing to say and when to say it.</p><p>They moved into the dining room. Christen noticed that as the other girls dug into their food, Tobin bowed her head and mouthed a brief prayer under her breath. Not for the first time, Christen wondered about Tobin’s backstory. Where did this faith come from? Where was her family? Why wasn’t she holding hands with parents and siblings this Thanksgiving, praying out loud to her God, instead of muttering a quick prayer to herself in a house with friends?</p><p>The conversation flowed freely. Pinoe mentioned that her family was too far to travel for Thanksgiving. Ali explained that Kyle had gone to spend the holidays with his boyfriend. The way Pinoe asked about the Krieger’s parents, and the way that Ali and Ashlyn both scrunched their noses up in disapproval when they talked about Ali’s dad, made Christen wonder what that relationship was like. <em>Wonder if it’s as bad as my relationship with my dad</em>.</p><p>Nobody asked Tobin about her family. So Christen didn’t either.</p><p>As they ate, Christen tried to subtly study Tobin. She felt like Tobin was more vibrant than she’d ever seen her. Out in public, around town, with the larger group of girls, she was always more reserved, hanging out all chill on the periphery with her hands in her pockets, going with the flow. Christen liked that Tobin. But she also liked this Tobin. This Tobin sat comfortably slouched in her chair, legs spread. Her brown eyes sparkled with happiness as she looked across the table at Christen. When Ashlyn and Pinoe cracked jokes, Tobin tossed her head back, showing her perfect white teeth as she laughed. She normally didn’t talk much in public, but she talked more now with this group, asking deep and thoughtful questions. Christen thought she could listen to the soothing cadence of Tobin’s voice all day and all night.</p><p>“Christen?”</p><p>“Sorry?” Christen blinked and glanced towards Ashlyn.</p><p><em>Was I just staring at Tobin? I hope not. What did she say? Everyone’s so quiet</em>. </p><p>“Sorry, I just asked you if your family had any Thanksgiving traditions growing up. Probably shouldn’t have asked with my mouth full,” Ashlyn said, kindly giving Christen an out for not paying attention.</p><p>“Oh, yeah. We did.” Christen could remember so clearly. It was actually one of the best times of year, when she was young. “Just your classic Thanksgiving, I guess. Family dinner. Tons of good food...” (She remembered the cooks bringing out the trays of food from the kitchens, platter after platter.)</p><p>“We’d always light the Christmas tree that very night, after we ate, and it stayed lit until New Years...” (The Christmas tree was forty feet tall and stood out on their lawn. They hired someone to light it professionally.)</p><p>“It got a little more hectic as we grew up, I guess, but still always exciting...” (As the years went on, Christen and Richard started leaving dinner earlier and earlier to check on how Black Friday sales—Press Electronics’ biggest sales event of the year—were going. Tara was always furious. Mal would just sit there as Christen and Richard rushed from the table, sad when she was little, and then just expressionless as she got older.)</p><p>“And, most importantly, we were always together.” (<em>Until Mom died. And everything imploded.</em>)</p><p>“That’s so sweet!” Ali exclaimed. From across the table, Tobin’s eyes were warm and kind. Christen realized she’d never really shared anything about her family to these girls before. She hadn’t meant to say so much, just now. She’d gotten lost in the memories. And now that was probably going to invite questions—</p><p>“So where’s the family now? Too far to visit? Maybe you’ll go at Christmas?” Pinoe asked.</p><p><em>Well, here goes</em>. This time, Christen had her story ready. “They, um…” she took a deep breath. “They passed away, actually.”</p><p>“Shit.” Pinoe’s eyes went wide, and the room went silent. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked—”</p><p>“No, no, it was a really long time ago,” Christen said reassuringly. She wanted to get this story over with, tie it off with a neat bow, in a way that made the girls never need to bring it up again. “A boating accident when I was in high school.” She’d read once that the more random details you added, the more believable a lie would seem. “I had food poisoning from something I ate at lunch that day, so I stayed behind and napped. But the rest of the family was on the boat when the storm came…” she let her voice trail off. “Anyway. Like I said, it’s been a long time. How about you—are you going home at Christmas, Pinoe?”</p><p>Tactfully following Christen’s not-so-subtle redirection, Pinoe launched into an explanation of what she and her siblings were planning on doing for Christmas. In a minute, Ali and Ashlyn were laughing along to whatever funny story Pinoe was telling, and Christen turned back to quietly eating her stuffing and string beans.</p><p>Later that night found them in the living room, eating pie on the couches and drinking even more. Ali flicked on the TV in the background, which was playing a re-run of the Macy’s Thanksgiving parade. Pinoe and Ashlyn sprawled out on the rug in front of the fireplace, rubbing their stomachs and groaning. Christen sat herself in a loveseat, her back ramrod straight, holding another whiskey. For a second, she wondered if Tobin was going to take the spot next to her, but instead, Tobin flopped down stomach-first on the wide sectional.</p><p>Christen noticed that after she had told the story of her family dying in a boating accident, Tobin hadn’t been as lively. She laughed less, and her eyes seemed less sparkling. Christen felt a rush of guilt. Had she let her fake story about her family’s fake death cast a pall on Tobin’s real Thanksgiving? Maybe her lie had triggered actual, real, painful memories for Tobin.</p><p>Then, as the conversation ebbed and flowed, something on the TV caught Christen’s eye.</p><p>Her sister, who she’d just lied about dying in a boat accident, was on television.</p><p>“Here’s a look at Mallory Press at the Macy’s Thanksgiving parade!” the announcer’s voice was chirping. The camera zoomed in on Mal, standing atop a huge float. She looked absolutely adorable, in a navy blue peacoat and giant, fluffy earmuffs, her eyes sparkling and cheeks glowing pink in the cold. “She’s here on behalf of her father and their corporation, Press Electronics, which just announced a donation of 5 million dollars to New York City public schools through the organization’s philanthropic arm.”</p><p>“I’m just so grateful to have had the opportunity to meet the kids today,” Mal was saying into the microphone. “Education is really one of the most crucial building blocks to greater success and creating a more equitable society…”</p><p>Christen, as she always did, studied Mal closely. Was there any regret? Was there any pain? How much did she know, or was she just a puppet for her father?</p><p>
  <em>I wonder if she ever thinks of me? I wonder if she even knows that I’m the one that started the philanthropy group for the company?</em>
</p><p>“She’s pretty.”</p><p>Christen jumped a little. Pinoe had followed her gaze to the television. “Mallory Press,” Pinoe said, “Damn, what I wouldn’t give to be a pretty little trillionaire teenager at the Macy’s parade right now, doling out my gold coins to the plebes.”</p><p>“If you were a trillionaire in New York City, you wouldn’t be getting to know that hot attorney in Portland. What’s her name? Sue?” Ashlyn teased. For the first time Christen could recall, Pinoe looked embarrassed, shoving Ashlyn away and muttering curses under her breath.</p><p>Christen was about to feel grateful that they were off the topic of Mal when Tobin pivoted right back. “Well, I would never want to be her,” Tobin said, nodding at the screen where Mal was still conversing with the TV show host. “All that money? I feel like it’s almost unethical to hoard trillions of dollars the way that the Press family does. And to always be in the public spotlight like that, having to look and act perfect all the time? I couldn’t do it.”</p><p>Christen’s stomach was dropping through the floorboards below her, but she kept her cool. “I couldn’t either,” she lied smoothly. But when Tobin looked her way, an approving expression crossing her face, Christen felt her stomach, still down in the floorboards, twist tight.</p><p>“I don’t know, Press Electronics makes the best cell phones in the world. The tech is no joke, and they employ tens of thousands of people. It’s not like they don’t have a contribution to society,” Ashlyn objected.</p><p>“Who knows how many of their workers they exploit—” Tobin started to protest.</p><p>“Okay, enough, enough,” Ali cut in, to Christen’s enormous relief. Ali picked up the remote from the coffee table and turned the TV off. “Let’s all go around in a circle and say one thing we’re thankful for this Thanksgiving,” she suggested, with a wide smile.</p><p>Christen had to giggle at the disgruntled expressions that crossed the other girls’ faces, like they were rebellious teenagers being corralled by their mother. But they all sat up straight and leaned into the circle.</p><p>Ashlyn was thankful for Ali (Pinoe let out an obnoxious but affectionate “AWWWW, CUTE”), Pinoe was thankful that her vintage clothing store downtown, which she’d just started up this past year, was doing well. Christen went with a safe, feel-good answer and said she felt thankful for the soccer team girls. After all, it was true. Tobin took a while to contemplate, but eventually said that she was thankful for “new mercies.” Christen had a feeling that was a religious reference, but none of the other girls asked what Tobin meant by it, so Christen felt uncomfortable revealing that she had no clue what Tobin was talking about.</p><p>Ali went last. “What I’m thankful for,” Ali said, reaching over to put a warm hand on Christen’s, “is that Christen is here with us tonight.”</p><p>Christen couldn’t quite believe her ears. Of all the things for Ali to be thankful for, this? “Why are you thankful for me?” Christen’s giggle bubbled up, lighthearted and contagious. “You’re the one who was gracious enough to have me over. I should be thanking you.”</p><p>“No, we’re so happy you’re here with us tonight,” Ali emphasized. Christen glanced around: the other girls weren’t laughing; they were smiling, but serious. Tobin’s smile was especially bright and beautiful, and her honey-brown eyes were glowing in the firelight. “And I hope we keep getting to hang out like this.”</p><p>Christen felt a pang in her heart. Was she happy to hear those words? Or was she remorseful, guilty that they were being so wonderful and she was keeping so much from them?</p><p>(Lately, pleasure and guilt were such intertwined emotions for her that she had a hard time pulling them apart in her mind.)</p><p>“Thanks,” was all she could think to say. She just squeezed Ali’s hand back, hard, hoping her smile was aptly conveying how much she was feeling.</p><p>It was almost midnight by the time they clambered back into Tobin’s truck, ready to head back to Christen’s. Tobin helped Christen up into the passenger seat again, but this time, Christen didn’t let her mind get carried away with thoughts of romance and butterflies. She was feeling sleepy and warm and content in the best way, just thankful and satisfied that these kind souls had decided to take her in with open arms. She knew she couldn’t ask for more. When they got back to Christen’s house and Tobin asked her if she wanted to take a walk around the block, she agreed easily, without letting herself overthink.</p><p>They wandered side by side in companionable silence in the chilly November air, breaths creating tiny clouds in front of them, arms swinging near each other but not quite touching. A couple times, Christen glanced over at Tobin. There was something in Tobin’s eyes that made Christen think, <em>she has something to say</em>. But as the silence went on, Christen took a breath and went first.</p><p>“I noticed you got kind of quiet during dinner, Tobin.”</p><p>Tobin’s eyebrows lifted. “What? Did I?”</p><p>“Maybe. I thought I noticed that you did,” Christen said, almost embarrassed to admit that she’d been paying such a close attention. “And I thought it was because of what I said about my family. Sorry to have sprung that on you. It’s kind of dark, I know, and I wouldn’t have brought it up if Pinoe hadn’t asked. Not exactly dinner table talk. Probably should’ve come with a trigger warning.”</p><p>Tobin’s eyes grew round, distraught. “Oh my god—no—you should not be apologizing for that. It wasn’t your fault I got upset.”</p><p>“Aha! So you <em>were</em> upset?”</p><p>“What are you, a lawyer?” Tobin teased, bumping her elbow against Christen’s good-naturedly. But then she took a resigned breath, and acknowledged, “Okay. I guess it did sort of bother me, but not in the way that you might think. I wasn’t upset that you talked about it. It’s just…you mentioned last time we talked that you’ve been going through a hard time…” Tobin began cautiously.</p><p>After she lapsed into silence for a long moment, Christen prodded, “Yeah?”</p><p>Tobin sighed, a deep, mournful sound. “I’m just regretting…well, I’m just sorry I didn’t check in on you sooner. I could tell that something was up, but I convinced myself that maybe you didn’t want us around. I built up this little narrative in my head, like maybe you had other people to talk to, like maybe you were talking to your family all the time and didn’t need us to bother you. The girls…” Tobin shook her head, an anguished expression on her face as she recollected. “Your girls were worried about you, and they told me, <em>weeks</em> ago, to check in on you. Did you know that? And I wanted to, but I chickened out, and I didn’t. Have you just been alone for months? Have you had anyone to talk to?”</p><p>“Oh, Tobin.” Christen’s heart felt like it was bursting out of her chest. <em>How can anyone be so sweet? How is this girl real?</em> She glanced over at Tobin’s earnest face, shaded in the dim golden glow of the streetlights. “I don’t want you to feel bad about this. If anything, you were picking up on all the signals I was trying to drop. I was trying to keep my distance from everyone.”</p><p>Tobin paused, eyebrow arching. “But you don’t still want that, do you?”</p><p>Christen shook her head. “No. I don’t think I ever <em>totally</em> did. I think there was a part of me that thought it would be easier, though.”</p><p>“…but now?”</p><p>“But now…” Christen bit her lip, almost too shy to say. “I don’t think I want to be so isolated anymore. I don’t think it’s good for anybody to be so alone.”</p><p>“Well, good,” Tobin said. Was it just Christen, or did Tobin sound a little breathless? They had circled back onto Christen’s street, and were meandering their way towards the end of her driveway. “Because I don’t think I want you to be alone anymore either.”</p><p>There was a long beat of silence. The expression on Tobin’s face, in the lamplight, was one that Christen had never seen before. It was intense, a little heated, a little dazed. Tobin’s eyes were dark and dilated, and they roamed around Christen’s face with a flickering intensity. Her brow was slightly furrowed, and her lips were poised in stillness just a breath apart from each other, as if you’d interrupted her unawares, mid-thought, and she was trying to gather her senses again. It lit up Christen’s insides and simultaneously sent a creepy-crawly feeling rippling across her shoulders. It was so penetrating that Christen had to avert her gaze.</p><p>“Well, thanks for the walk. And the ride back. And the invitation. I’m glad I came tonight,” Christen said, smiling, pulling them out of the danger zone.</p><p>Tobin blinked. “I’m glad you came too,” she grinned, easy and casual. The searching, heated expression was gone, just like that. So quickly that Christen thought that perhaps she’d imagined it after all.  </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Hi!</p><p>First, sorry for the long delay. With work being crazy, and the election giving me massive anxiety, it hasn't been easy to make space to write. And normally I can just dash out a scene or two when I have a bit of downtime, but this time, I went through this Act 3 panic-spiral and rewrote a lot of the ending scenes, and then I had to sit down and actively re-plot a lot of the story to fit, which took ages. </p><p>And THEN, after I finished this chapter, I had this stupid idea where I thought I'd try to update both my stories at once as penance for making you all wait. That, of course, was a lost cause. I literally had a dream last night that my laptop died and I lost all my work, and I woke up and thought, okay, I HAVE to post this now.</p><p>P.S. Watched some Legend of Korra this month and now cannot stop picturing T and C as Korra and Asami, respectively???!! Am I the only one? (I'm not about Asian erasure, obviously, and I know that everyone in ATLA is supposed to be Asian but holy crap, imagine C as Asami. The eyes! The hair!)</p><p>Anyway, hope you all enjoy this chapter and that you're staying well!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Christen woke up, delighted, from a nightmare.</p><p>She bolted up straight in bed, legs still instinctively kicking against the sheets. It took her a second to come to her senses.</p><p>She let her eyes flutter shut and recalled the wisps of dream that still fluttered around the edges of her consciousness. She’d dreamed of a dark night on the soccer field, with many hooded, faceless spectators crowding around. It was the final minutes of the championship game, and for some reason, they were suddenly down four players on the field. One of the referees gestured for Christen to join her players on the field.</p><p>“What? Me? I’m the coach!” Christen protested, but it was as if nobody couldn’t hear her. She stumbled onto the field in flip-flops and jeans, and when Rose sent a cross in towards her, she suddenly found herself unable to bend her knees. She flopped uselessly, sideways, onto the grass. The crowd booed. Her girls were angry. Suddenly, lying there on her side on the field, she was convinced she didn’t have pants on—but when she tried to check, her neck wouldn’t bend.</p><p>She woke up in a cold sweat.</p><p>And then a huge grin broke out on her face.</p><p><em>A normal nightmare! A nightmare that normal people have. A normal-person dream</em>. Christen flopped down on her back again, beaming up at the ceiling. She always dreamed of the same horrific scene, over and over, reliving the worst trauma of her life: <em>frightened faces, guns, armed men, bars over windows</em>.</p><p>Today was different. A nightmare about a state championship soccer game? That was something Christen could greet with a smile on her face.</p><p>After shooting the girls an encouraging email with reminders for the day, she spent the morning nervously thinking and re-thinking the game plan for that night with a notepad and Sharpie, even though she’d already gone over them a trillion times.</p><p>Approaching lunchtime, the kitchen table was littered with crumpled-up papers and scraps of formations. She felt a little light-headed with nerves. Her stomach hurt—was it just anxiety, or was she hungry? Impossible to tell.</p><p>As she glanced around the barren and wondered what there was to eat for lunch, and if she even wanted to eat, her phone beeped with a text. Christen was grinning to herself even as she reached for the phone, certain of who it was.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Tobin Heath: hey you! :) </em> </strong>
</p><p>Tobin Heath. The reason Christen had been in such a good mood lately; the reason why Christen was sleeping better than she had in years; why she walked with a new spring in her step.</p><p>Her phone dinged again.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Tobin Heath: it’s the big day! championship game! nervous!? </em> </strong>
</p><p>Considering how zen Tobin came off in person, Christen found it unspeakably endearing that Tobin texted with an excessive amount of exclamation points, like an excited little kid. For that entire week, ever since the Thanksgiving dinner, Christen and Tobin had been texting nonstop all day, every day.</p><p>It’d started innocuously enough. Christen had been brushing her teeth on Friday morning, luxuriating in the day off of school, when her phone beeped on the table. <em>Who could it be?</em> She wondered, wandering over to check it. She’d fallen so far off the map in recent months that she wasn’t accustomed to people contacting her anymore.</p><p>Her heartbeat had begun thundering when she picked up the phone.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Tobin: happy day after thanksgiving! ughhh ate way too much last night, could barely roll myself out of bed this morning</em> </strong>
</p><p>Christen’s brain had basically short-circuited.</p><p><em>Is this the start of us being friends?!</em> <em>Is this a friend text? Is this what friends do? Quick, what would a normal person say in response? Would it be weird to respond too soon? </em></p><p>She had been standing there, frantically debating her next steps, when another text rolled in on the heels of the first one.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Tobin: you're off school today right? want to go on a hike later? I’m off my shift at 4</em> </strong>
</p><p>Before Christen could stop herself, her fingers were flying over the keyboard.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Christen: That sounds amazing. Where should we meet? </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Tobin: I’ll pick you up :)</em> </strong>
</p><p>They had ended up hiking for almost three hours, meandering over the hilly trails, talking about everything and nothing. For the first half hour, Christen was so bashful and awkward that she almost regretted agreeing to go. She could feel her heart pounding and palms sweating, and every sentence she concocted in her head seemed more idiotic than the next. But Tobin never looked at her weird, or said anything judgmental. Instead, as they hopped over fallen logs and wound around trees, Tobin lightheartedly rambled about her EMT shift that morning and kicked up the carpet of fallen leaves around them like a child, and occasionally shot Christen a heart-stoppingly beautiful, hopeful grin.</p><p>They reached the summit and settled on the rocky outcropping in comfortable silence. The hills spreading before them had already shed the last of their autumn leaves, but it was still beautiful in a stark way, with the pinkish hues of the sky backlighting the hazy, faraway tree line.</p><p>Christen had closed her eyes and taken in several long breaths of the crisp, wintery air. It was the first Black Friday in over ten years that she hadn’t spent in a packed, hectic conference room at Press Electronics headquarters with her dad, watching the sales numbers fluctuate, tracking discount prices at competitors, talking projections. In the early years, it felt like the most exciting place to be in the entire world. It’d filled her with a heady, powerful rush, to be a teenaged girl surrounded by middle-aged men in suits. And not only that, but to be highly respected among those men: to be taken seriously, to have her voice matter.</p><p>(To hear her father say at the end of the day, as he ruffled her curly hair and brought her in for a hug, “You were incredible today. Have I ever told you I’m proud of you, princess?”</p><p>And to grin at him, and to respond, “Once more never hurts, Daddy.”)</p><p><em>But this day has had its own kind of beauty</em>, Christen thought, sitting there on the ledge next to Tobin. <em>To wake up late in a sun-filled room after spending a leisurely night with friends. To be in nature and sit and witness its beauty. To have a friend by your side</em>. Christen had snuck a glance over at Tobin. <em>(But remember, a friend, just a friend.)</em></p><p>And when Tobin turned, and caught Christen staring, but didn’t look away—just smiled softly—Christen found herself not quite caring about the loss of the intoxicating power of her younger years.</p><p>
  <em>I used to be at the center of things, and I used to like it. Now I’m at the edge of things, and I think I like this too.  Where am I more at home? Which is the real me? Both? Or worse—neither? </em>
</p><p>But then Tobin had taken a crushed protein bar out of her jacket pocket and offered to share, and Christen had pushed her morose thoughts aside and ordered herself, sternly, to stop overthinking and just <em>enjoy</em>. Here she was, well-rested and calm, sitting next to Tobin Heath on a gorgeous, breeze-swept mountaintop, having a conversation. A mere two weeks ago, every single lovely aspect of this scenario would’ve just been a pipe dream.</p><p>They stayed out as long as they could, even when it started getting cold, even as the sun began to drop behind the mountains. When Tobin had dropped her off at home that night, Christen had walked through the door with a lighter step than she’d known in years. The hours they’d just spent together had felt like mere minutes. She’d eaten dinner with an appetite that had miraculously reappeared after months, and snuggled down into her blankets and fallen asleep in record time, and had only fleeting, minimal nightmares.  </p><p>And she’d woken up the next morning to another text from Tobin:</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Tobin: had fun yesterday! :)</em> </strong>
</p><p>And that’s how it’d gone since then: Tobin texting non-stop, and Christen responding in equal measure.</p><p>Christen felt herself slowly being coaxed out of her shell by Tobin’s enthusiasm, her kindness, her curiosity. She was always interested in what Christen had to say, but never pushy or judgmental. Bit by bit, Christen found herself on firmer ground, not always second-guessing whether she was behaving and speaking and thinking normally.</p><p>(And that gaze, that strange, heated, searching look that Tobin had given her that Thanksgiving night, had never made an appearance again. Christen wasn’t sure if she was happy or sad about that.)</p><p><em>Safe</em>. That’s what the sensation was, Christen decided. Tobin was the kind of gentle, unassuming person who made people around her feel safe.</p><p>But did Christen feel safe? She considered this question as she fidgeted with her phone. No, not quite. But she never felt safe. So that unfortunate fact was really on her, and not on Tobin.</p><p>She pushed her unease aside and texted back.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Christen: Yep, big night tonight! </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Tobin: what are you up to? how are you doing?</em> </strong>
</p><p>Christen was already automatically typing out the words <em>Fine! Not doing much!</em> But then she bit her lip, staring at the lying little words lighting up her phone screen. Her father used to say that displaying anything less than perfection was a sign of weakness.</p><p>But this was Tobin, and she could be safe with Tobin, right?</p><p>Letter by letter, she backspaced through her text and re-typed:</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Christen: You know, just sitting here, freaking out. </em> </strong>
</p><p>Tobin’s response was immediate.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Tobin: oh no! :(</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Tobin: have you eaten lunch? want me to bring something over? I just got off my shift </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Tobin: only if you want some company. feel free to say no! </em> </strong>
</p><p>Christen only hesitated a moment before responding,</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Christen: Sure, if it’s not inconvenient for you!</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Tobin: On my way :)</em> </strong>
</p><p>Christen grinned at the thought of seeing Tobin so soon, slightly stunned at herself for agreeing so quickly—and then froze. She looked up and around the room. For the first time ever, someone was going to be in the house for an extended period of time. <em>Well, maybe it’ll be harmless, having someone over for the first time, someone actually sitting in my house, hanging out—right?!</em> She glanced around, a little frantically. Everything was neat as a pin in the kitchen and in the living room. She stacked up her scrawled game notes and straightened the two pairs of shoes by the door.</p><p>Then she wandered into her bedroom. Hands on her hips, she eyed the secret floorboard. Over the past week, maybe because she’d been so busy texting Tobin in her spare time, she hadn’t checked the contents multiple times a day as she’d gotten used to doing.</p><p>
  <em>What are the odds Tobin would even come in this room, much less notice that there was a loose floorboard?</em>
</p><p>She hesitated, then tugged the heavy dresser a few feet to the right to cover it up.</p><p>
  <em>Okay, better. </em>
</p><p>When she heard Tobin’s truck pulling into the driveway, she slammed the bedroom door, tugged it to make extra sure it latched, and hurried out to greet her.</p><p>“Hey!” Tobin called, her grin lighting up the chilly, grey December day as Christen ushered her over the threshold with a hug.</p><p>It was only the second time they’d really hung out, and Christen immediately felt awful and awkward all over again, stumbling over her words and overthinking every tiny thing—whether she was making too much eye contact, or not enough eye contact, or standing too close, or laughing too much—</p><p>But then Tobin glanced down at Christen’s feet, encased in fuzzy socks, and carefully toed her sneakers off so she was standing in her socks too, nudging her shoes in line with Christen’s shoes by the door. She gave Christen a hopeful little smile, like a kid wondering if they’d done the right thing—and something about the little gesture set Christen’s pounding heart right at ease.</p><p>“Okay, I realized I wasn’t sure what your preferred sandwiches were, so I just chose a bunch,” Tobin confessed, unloading a paper bag onto the kitchen table. “We got a BLT, an Italian, this one is…something fancy, with avocado…this one is vegetarian…and soup. Days like this always call for soup, right?” </p><p>“You didn’t have to get all these, anything would’ve worked for me,” Christen said. <em>How much do EMTs in tiny mountain towns make, anyway? Enough to splurge like this?</em> “But thanks,” she added shyly, picking up the sandwich labeled “chicken avocado.”</p><p>“The fancy one, eh? I’ll remember that for next time,” Tobin teased. (The words “next time” sent pleasant shivers down Christen’s spine.) “It’s fine, you can put the rest of them in the fridge for next week. You’ll be too busy celebrating to cook.”</p><p>“Don’t jinx it!” Christen laughed. But she could already tell that Tobin’s very presence was settling her down, calming her nerves from the morning.</p><p>As they dug into the sandwiches and broccoli cheddar soup, Tobin asked, “So, do you want to talk about the game? Do you want to talk about anything except the game? Or do you want to just sit here in total silence? I’m down for whatever you need.”</p><p>Christen laughed again. “We might as well talk about the game. I don’t think I could avoid thinking about it anyway. Ask me anything.”</p><p>“Okay, great,” Tobin said, twirling her soup around her spoon. “How about…you tell me…about how Lindsey’s been doing.” </p><p>“I mean, she’s just amazing, of course. She’s brilliant; she reads the ball so well, she’s always putting herself in the right positions. You’ve been to most of the games, so you’ve seen her.”</p><p>Tobin beamed with pride hearing Christen lavish praise on Lindsey.</p><p>“You look like a proud mom,” Christen teased. “You really love her, don’t you? How’d you get so close?”</p><p>Tobin shrugged. “After I moved here, we just clicked. I felt sort of out of place here when I first got here—it’s such a wholesome little town, so tight-knit and…I don’t know, innocent…and I didn’t feel like I really fit in, you know?”</p><p><em>Tell me about it</em>, Christen agreed silently.</p><p>“I met Lindsey and the other girls when they had the EMTs go into the schools to do these emergency training sessions, and they were just such a riot. I was laughing the whole time. That was before I really got close with anyone my age, and it made me realize I hadn’t felt so happy in a long time. Lindsey and I got along especially well. I don’t have any siblings, but I’ve always wanted a little sister to spoil and take care of, and she’s really become like a little sister to me.”</p><p><em>She’s such a better person than I am. I actually had a little sister, and I wasted it</em>. Christen thought back on all the times in her life she’d neglected Mal, ignored her, chased her off, until she’d created the current chasm between them—so wide they barely felt like acquaintances, much less siblings.</p><p>“So where are you going to play Linds tonight? And what about the other girls?” Tobin asked, safely distracting Christen from her regretful thoughts.</p><p>Christen perked up, describing the diamond formation they intended on playing that night, honed through an entire season of careful trial and error. “Our strength is in our midfield, so we need to keep that core strong, break up their attacks. Milltown likes to play out of the back a lot, according to their game tapes, but they might have a different strategy tonight, so we’ll have to adjust. I think we’ll have Rose and Lindsey playing high up the sides, almost like wingers…” Christen gesticulated enthusiastically with both arms, “and Bethany and Sophia have been doing great, so I think they’ll see some minutes even though they’re only freshmen…”</p><p>“Has anyone ever told you that you’re cute when you’re excited about something?”</p><p>Shocked, Christen cut off mid-sentence. She gulped so hard, she was sure Tobin heard it. “Come on,” she awkwardly tried to play it off as a joke, rolling her eyes. “Nobody’s ever told me I’m cute, period.”</p><p>Tobin blinked. “Wait, what—?”</p><p>“Anyway, we’ll be playing Andi at the back of the diamond; she’s great at playing heads-up ball, and she doesn’t overwork, she’s smart about it,” Christen chattered on, scared of where Tobin might be going. She felt suddenly afraid that her comment had put Tobin in an awkward position: <em>Now you HAVE to say I’m cute, even though you don’t think so, or you’ll be rude! </em>She didn’t want any pity compliments. “You can see always see Andi pointing, conducting the plays. That’s what makes her such a great captain.”</p><p>Tobin went with the flow, turning back to the topic of soccer. “You’re going to miss her when she’s gone, I bet.”</p><p>“Hm?” Christen asked, confused.</p><p>“Andi? You’ll miss her?” Tobin  repeated. “She’s a junior this year; next year will be her last season.”</p><p>“Oh yeah, I suppose. I didn’t think of that.” Christen felt her face darkening. She folded her hands on the rough wooden tabletop and worried her bottom lip between her teeth. Honestly, the truth was that she hadn’t thought past this season. She wasn’t going to be here a year from now. She’d be long gone. So why bother thinking that far ahead?</p><p>“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bum you out,” Tobin added with a soft smile. She placed one hand out on the wooden table, close to Christen’s hands, almost on top of them. “You okay?”</p><p>If Christen just reached out—if she just moved a little bit over, their fingers would brush against each other’s, and then—</p><p>“No, I’m just—I’m nervous, that’s all.” Chickening out, Christen yanked her hands back from the table and tucked them under her knees, forcing a smile to her face. “And speaking of, I think I should probably get going. The bus is going to be at the school at 2 PM to take us over to Milltown.”</p><p>If Tobin was disappointed, she didn’t let it show. “Cool. You want a ride over?”</p><p>Christen hesitated.</p><p>“I’ll drop you back off after the game, too, so you don’t have to worry about getting home.”</p><p>“Sure, why not?” Christen heard herself saying.</p><p>As they cleared the table and gathered up their things, Christen’s hands itched and her eyes strayed towards the back door, and towards all the windows. Would Tobin think it weird if she went over and double, triple, quadruple-checked to make sure they were locked, like she normally did? Could she find an excuse to go into the room to check underneath the floorboard, just to lay one reassuring finger on the hard drive? But no, she’d have to move the dresser, and Tobin would hear, and wonder why Christen was pushing furniture around—</p><p>She looked over to where Tobin was waiting by the door, shoes on and coat in hand and a warm smile on her face.</p><p><em>It’s fine, nothing’s going to happen</em>, Christen told herself, and she met Tobin’s smile with one of her own and pushed aside the rising tide of anxiety as she opened the front door and stepped out. For the very first time in the five months since she’d moved to Barberry Stone, she locked the front door behind them without first conducting her routine, paranoid checks.</p><p><em>That wasn’t so bad</em>, she told herself as she accepted Tobin’s hand to boost herself up into the passenger seat of the truck. <em>Not bad at all, see?</em></p><hr/><p>5 PM, and the girls soccer teams from Barberry Stone and Milltown high schools were on the field, waiting for the opening whistle to kick off the state championship finals.</p><p><em>I’ve never felt nerves like this before</em>, Christen thought to herself, staring out over the field, brightly lit under stadium lighting at twilight, and the blurred faces of the crowd beyond.</p><p>Well, of course, that was a bit of a lie. The first executive board meeting she’d led on her own at age 15, the one where she thought her father would disown her if she embarrassed him? That was a strong contender. Her fateful business trip, representing the face of the Press Electronics organization, the one that basically ruined her life? What about the night she made her final escape from Southern California?</p><p>Okay, all strong contenders. But the Oregon high school girls’ soccer state championship game was up there in the top 5, for sure.</p><p>Christen stood bundled up on the sidelines in a navy baseball cap pulled low over her brow, a scarf wrapped around the bottom half of her face, and the puffy hood of her parka pulled up around her neck. It was freezing cold, the wind whipping like ice around her skinny old legs—Rose was out there in shorts and a short-sleeved jersey, which was <em>pure insanity</em>—but Christen was grateful for the cold, which gave her an excuse to shield her face. As much as Christen wanted to attribute all her nerves to the game itself, she knew it was also the crowds and cameras the game drew. For someone trying to stay undercover, the state championship game was not a good place to do it. Nervously, she drew her scarf even higher around her face and drew back into the shadows behind Alyssa.</p><p>Earlier, in the locker room, she’d given the girls a rousing final speech about how proud she was of them and how far they’d progressed as a team. “I want each of you to picture one person here tonight—one person who’s been there for you, who supports you in your highs and your lows, who you love unconditionally and who wants to see you shine,” she’d said to them, looking around the room at their pale, serious faces, “and I want you to play for that person. Every time you start to lose focus, every time you’re tempted to give it less than 100%, I want you to picture that person in your mind’s eye and tell yourself, <em>I’ll do it for them</em>.”</p><p>As the girls squeezed their eyes shut in thought, Christen did as well. Though she hadn’t been planning on answering her own prompt, the image of Tobin rose up in her mind’s eye: Tobin, that fateful day in the rainy Salem hospital parking lot weeks ago, raindrops streaming off of her long eyelashes and the angled planes of her face as she fought for Christen—fought to be there for her, fought to include her, fought to be her friend, even as Christen was self-sabotaging and denying and running away.</p><p>When Christen opened her eyes, the girls were ready. Lindsey and Sonnett had found each other’s hands, and Christen had the feeling they had chosen each other. In the silence of the locker room, everyone heard as Rose whispered to Abby, “I chose my dog, do you think that was allowed?”</p><p>Everyone burst out laughing. “All right, girls,” Christen had said, “Let’s go out there and kill it.”</p><p>The first half was a bit of wishy-washy play, the girls just slightly too amped up. The ball was pinging back and forth across the field so quickly Christen felt like she had whiplash. “<em>Possess!</em> Connect your passes!” she yelled through her scarf as Sam streaked past her up the right side. “Settle, Sammy, settle!”</p><p><em>Although I really need to be taking my own advice</em>, she thought, trying to spread her fingers against the front of her thighs to stop their trembling.</p><p>But it got worse before it got better.</p><p>Just twenty minutes in and the game was already getting a little chippy, all shoulders and studs up and hard fouls. The atmosphere was good for some of the girls—Christen loved seeing Abby’s and Andi’s eyes harden, as they got indignant and started fighting for their space. But it was less suited for other personalities, and Christen tracked Sonny worriedly, watching her get more aggressive bit by bit. After a particularly feisty foul, where Sonny basically wrestled a girl to the ground, Christen locked eyes with her and called, “Calm down.” Sonny nodded, looking a little abashed.</p><p>Sonny held back admirably for a while, but it was nearing halftime, and the scoreline was still 0-0. Energy started flagging a bit, the girls’ legs pumping a little slower as they raced back and forth.</p><p>There was a long ball down the middle, and the other team’s center forward was suddenly springing forward into the box, Sonny and Andi giving chase. “Careful, <em>careful</em>!” Christen yelled—</p><p>But it was too late.</p><p>Sonny had gone in for a late tackle, and she and the attacker were down in a tangle of limbs.</p><p>The screams and boos and groans from the crowd faded to white noise in Christen’s ears as she watched Sonny pick herself from the ground, defeat and agony written all over her face. Lindsey and Andi were already crowding around the referee, pleading with emphatic, waving arms and furrowed brows, but Christen knew before looking what the call was going to be. Sonny hadn’t gotten a foot on the ball at all, and they’d been well inside the box.</p><p>The Milltown captain lined up for the penalty, took a deep breath.</p><p>The ball sailed past Britt’s outstretched fingertips into the bottom left corner. 1-0.</p><p>The halftime whistle blew, and Barberry Stone trudged into the locker room, down by one.</p><p>In the locker room, Christen swallowed her own panic and nausea and gave a rousing speech to her downtrodden team. By the end of her spiel, the girls’ heads had lifted and their eyes looked bright, ready to take on the challenge of the second half, and Christen felt relief wash over her as their spirits picked up—even though her own thoughts were still whirling at a mile a minute. <em>What if we lose? Will I get fired? Will people in town ever look me in the eye again? Will Tobin</em>—the thought was almost too painful to bear—<em>will Tobin resent me for failing at coaching Lindsey? Will she hate me?</em></p><p>As Alyssa took over and started going over strategy, Christen slipped to the edge of the room and sat on the bench next to Sonny. Sonny usually the one jumping around the room, amping everyone else up and making them laugh—but right now she was sitting cowered in the corner. Her head had been down in her hands through Christen’s entire speech, even though her friends had been rotating through to try to cheer her up.</p><p>“Hey,” Christen said softly, so that no one else could hear, rubbing her hand over Sonny’s back in soothing, repetitive circles, “you know that this isn’t your fault, right? Like I always say, soccer is a team sport. Nothing’s on you. You’ve still got this.”</p><p>Sonny looked up, and Christen was chagrined to see that her eyes were teary and red-rimmed. “Are you going to take me out, Coach?”</p><p>“No,” Christen said firmly, taking Sonny’s hand in her own and squeezing it tight. “We’re keeping you in. I know you can do this. You know you can do this too, right?”</p><p>Sonny nodded, lifted her head a little higher.</p><p>“All right, then get out there, superstar,” Christen said, nudging her up as the rest of the team started marching out of the room into the cold night. As Sonny shuffled into the line with the rest of the girls, Christen scanned the room for one more person to have a little side chat with—<em>aha</em>. As the girls went by, she reached out and grabbed Lindsey’s arm, pulled her to the side of the hall.</p><p>“Linds. Make the rest of this game yours, you hear me? We can fight back from this, easy. <em>You</em> can fight back from this.” Christen grabbed Lindsey’s upper arms and held on tight.  She locked eyes with her—the hesitation in Lindsey’s eyes crushed her, but she didn’t let her feelings show. “Do it for Sonny, okay? I know she’s feeling down on herself right now, but you can redeem this for her.”</p><p>At the sound of Sonny’s name, Lindsey’s chin lifted, her eyes flickered with new determination. “Yeah. For Em. I got this, Coach.”</p><p>It didn’t take long for Sonny’s friends to come back with a vengeance. In the 60<sup>th</sup> minute, Sam picked a pocket and fed it out to Rose on the counter. Rose tore up the field as the Barberry Stone fans went wild in the background. She sent the cross in. Lindsey rocketed it up into the net.</p><p>“YES!!” Alyssa hollered, the crowd went wild, the bench behind Christen was up on their feet, yelling, and the scoreboard ticked to 1-1. After hugging it out with Alyssa, Christen indulged herself and glanced over to where Tobin was sitting—it was easy to find her, next to Pinoe’s shock of bright pink hair. Tobin was standing with fists raised, beaming, as Lindsey was bombarded by her teammates on the field.</p><p>And then in the 88<sup>th</sup> minute—</p><p>The ball went out for a Barberry Stone corner. Christen bit her lip, agonizing for a second, before directing Bethany, a freshman, to take it. Bethany lined it up, sent it in beautifully.</p><p>The whole crowd held their breath as the ball ricocheted around the box for what felt like minutes, pinging between both teams’ players, not quite cleared each time—</p><p>And then it bounced out to the 18-yard line, where Sonny was waiting, and—</p><p>A bicycle kick, and the ball soared into the back of the net.</p><p>Christen was screaming, Alyssa was screaming, everyone was screaming. The entire bench was up on the sidelines, roaring themselves hoarse, as the girls on the field piled onto Sonny. The Milltown girls were scrambling, trying to get back into position, trying to get the game moving again, but it would prove fruitless.</p><p>
  <em>2-1, Barberry Stone. Oregon state champions. </em>
</p><p>Christen barely heard the final whistle blow, because her eyes were already on her girls. Her bright, beautiful, brilliant girls, sprinting across the field towards her. This time, she ran out towards them too, arms outstretched. Sonny was the first to hit her, leaping up into Christen’s arms, burrowing her face into her shoulder. They all piled on top of each other and collapsed to the pitch in a mound of sweaty arms and legs, shrieking and laughing and crying.</p><p>By the time they finally picked each other up off the ground, friends and families were already streaming onto the field. As the girls scattered among the fans, Christen was left standing alone on the pitch for a moment. As Sonny’s parents and twin sister embraced her, as Rose’s mom came up to her with her dog Wilma on a leash, and Abby fell into her boyfriend’s embrace, Christen suddenly felt a little bereft, isolated. She glanced left, then right, adjusting her cap back on her head and trying not to make it obvious that she was looking for one person in particular.</p><p>Then above the hubbub, she heard her name being shouted by a familiar voice.</p><p>“Christen!”</p><p>Christen spun around just in time to register Tobin barreling at her, and then she was being lifted in the air and swung around in circles. The field, the stands, the crowds, all settled into a blur of color. All she could see was Tobin’s wide grin, the crinkle of her eyes. They whirled around and around together for a few more seconds, laughing, until Tobin finally stumbled off-balance and Christen crashed down into her arms.</p><p>“You did so good, Christen,” Tobin murmured, wrapping her arms around her. “<em>So</em> good.” Did she plant a quick kiss on Christen’s hair, behind her ear, or had Christen just imagined that?!</p><p>Christen pulled back a bit, rosy and giggling and still a little dazed. “I can’t believe that just happened,” she exclaimed breathlessly, pressing her freezing fingers against her face as if to shock herself back to reality. “I can’t believe we just won!”</p><p>“Well, I believe it. I knew you could do it.” Tobin beamed. Her eyes crinkled at the corners, and her smile was so huge, it seemed to light up the whole field. Christen had never seen her look like this, so thrilled, so carefree, and she felt like she could never get enough of gazing at Tobin’s face. It matched how she felt inside herself—like if she just tilted her head back and lifted her arms, she’d float right off the grass, into the night sky, ethereal.</p><p>“I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy,” Christen heard herself say.</p><p>“Well,” Tobin replied in a low voice, reaching out to tug gently on a stray tendril of hair that had slipped out from under Christen’s baseball cap, “happy looks good on you, Chris.”</p><p>It was the first time Tobin had ever called her by a nickname. <em>Chris</em>. Funny how the sound of a single, simple word, spoken in Tobin's low, raspy voice, could make her feel like she was standing in a beam of sunshine on a warm May morning.</p><p>The moment was interrupted when a bunch of the girls and parents swarmed onto them. As Tobin and Lindsey hugged for a long time, Christen took the chance to pull Sonny aside again and shower her with compliments.</p><p>“Party at Sonny’s tonight!” Rose announced to Christen with a devilish twinkle in her eye. “You wouldn’t want to come, right, Coach Channing? Hey Em, you wouldn’t mind, right?”</p><p>Behind Rose, Christen watched Sonny’s eyes widen with horror—whether it was real or faked, it made Christen cackle. Surely they didn’t want their coach and AP Spanish teacher tagging along at whatever wild reverie was planned for the night. “No, you girls have fun, though.” Sonny’s shoulders sagged in relief.</p><p>“They’re about to do the trophy ceremony, and the local newspaper wants a photo of the team,” Lindsey’s dad announced. “Shall we all head over, Coach Channing?”</p><p>“Oh, Andi’s going to be accepting the trophy on behalf of the team, since she’s the captain,” Christen said, hastily pulling her scarf back over her mouth from where it’d drooped down on her neck. She didn’t miss the quizzical, confused expression on Tobin’s face.</p><p>“But you’re the coach! Surely you’ll be in the photos?!” Mr. Horan exclaimed.</p><p>“No,” Christen said, absolutely uncompromising.</p><p>“Daaad,” Lindsey complained in a classic teenager <em>you’re-embarrassing-me</em> tone, “Coach hates being in pictures. She hasn’t let us take pictures of her all year. We all agreed on this ages ago. Let’s just go!”</p><p>Christen was grateful that the parents didn’t ask any more questions. Everyone started heading towards the center of the field, where the state official was waiting with an enormous golden trophy.</p><p>“Sorry he’s bothering you, Coach,” Lindsey added, giving Christen another quick hug. Then, low in her ear so that nobody else could hear, she added, “You know, I’m usually the person who gets the first hug from Tobin after games. But I’ll happily relinquish that spot to you. Tobes hasn’t looked so happy in a long time.”</p><p>“<em>Linds!</em>” Christen pulled back in shock, trying and utterly failing to look like a stern authority figure as a shy smile spread over her face.</p><p>“What are you guys talking about?” Tobin asked innocently, turning from whatever conversation she’d just ended. Luckily, Lindsey just winked and started jogging off into the crowd.</p><p>“Hey!” Tobin called after her. “Stay safe tonight—call me if you or any of the other girls need a ride anywhere, okay? Don’t drive yourselves if you’re not feeling up to it.”</p><p>Christen and Tobin moseyed back towards the edge of the fence as the trophy ceremony took place. Christen beamed to herself as Andi and the girls lifted the trophy in the air. Even from far away, they could hear the sharp <em>snap-snap-snap</em> of the enormous, professional camera used by the newspaper staff. As the girls posed for pictures, Christen picked up stray pinnies and water bottles that had been left by the benches.</p><p>“So, you don’t think you should be up there with the girls? Isn’t it your victory too?” Tobin asked.</p><p>Christen shrugged, pulling the hood of her jacket up around her head. “Yeah, sure. But I can enjoy it plenty from over here. They deserve to be in the spotlight.”</p><p>“You really hate being in pictures that much?”</p><p>“I just…” Christen pondered for a moment, then decided not to go into too much detail. “Cameras just make me really anxious, that’s all.”</p><p>It wasn’t long before Pinoe, Ali, and Ashlyn found them by the fence. Christen happily received another round of bear hugs and compliments from them, growing rosy in the face as Pinoe fell prostrate on the grass and pretended to bow to her.</p><p><em>Who needs flashbulbs and front pages with friends like these?</em> Christen thought as she watched Ashlyn, rolling her eyes, attempt to drag Pinoe up from the ground as Ali scolded Pinoe for ruining her expensive her shoes in the mud, Tobin standing to the side, laughing through the whole thing.</p><p>“Kel is rounding people up for the afterparty, you guys are in, right?” Ashlyn asked. “Christen, you’re the guest of honor, of course you have to be there. We won’t take no for an answer. Tobin, you’re in too, right?”</p><p>“Well, I’m Christen’s ride, so I’m with her, whatever she does,” Tobin responded with a smile that was almost shy.</p><p>Christen didn’t miss the eyebrow-raises that Pinoe, Ali, and Ashlyn exchanged.</p><p>“Well, then, it’s all up to you, Christen,” Ashlyn said, turning to her with an exaggerated puppy pout.</p><p>“Yeah, I’m in,” Christen said brightly. It was definitely party time. “Ready whenever you guys are.”</p><p>As they headed off towards the cars, Christen slowed down a few steps to look out over their field of victory, now nearly empty, one more time. She remembered, vividly, the first game that the girls had won. Even after the win, the hugs, that crazy “festival” banner they’d unfurled, Christen had still retreated. She had slunk off to the edge of the crowd and walked away alone, winding through the dark town sidewalks until she’d reached her own quiet front door. She didn’t even remember anymore what she’d done that night after getting home—probably just compulsively checked the locks until she fell asleep.</p><p>Things were different now. She was different.</p><hr/><p>Alex Morgan’s house was lovely and shiny, a new house built in an old farmhouse style. Their crew had stopped by Ali’s to pregame and had all driven over together with Ali as the designated driver, so by the time they arrived, cars were already extended down the Morgan’s winding driveway, and silhouettes appeared in every one of the many visible windows. As they walked up to the front door, Pinoe leaned over and said to Christen, “Hugest fucking house you’ve ever seen right? It’s a monstrosity.”</p><p>Christen nodded along, her eyes tracing over the lit-up exterior. It certainly dwarfed the little single-story homes that were typical of the rest of the town, announcing in no uncertain times who the <em>It</em> family of Barberry Stone was.</p><p>Compared to the Press estate, of course, it was barely a cottage. But of course, Christen wasn’t going to be saying that out loud. (She was tipsy from the several shots Ashlyn had handed her over the course of the last hour, but she wasn’t <em>that</em> tipsy.)</p><p>Inside, music blasted from speakers in every room, and a cheer went up from the crowded foyer as soon as Christen walked in. Her ears were still ringing as someone shoved an icy-cold Budweiser into her hand. She held onto it for a few more steps, then inconspicuously turned around and handed it to Tobin to drink.</p><p>In the push and pull of the packed, admiring crowd, she lost track of her friends in minutes. The exclamations and accolades from total strangers was exhausting and anxiety-inducing. A handy trick, she discovered almost immediately, was carrying her jacket around in her arms. As a string of vaguely familiar faces swarmed around her to congratulate her, she could nod and smile sweetly for a few minutes and then say, in a surprised voice, as if she’d just realized—“Hold on, let me just go figure out where to put my coat down!” And then she could slink away from the conversation and spend a few minutes casting her eyes about for one of her friends, before another friendly townsperson gripped her shoulders and roared a congratulations into her ear.</p><p>She finally located Pinoe and Ashlyn with some friends in a relatively abandoned side room—perhaps the library, with its wide leather couch and fireplace and shelves lined with books. “My god, this is not what I was expecting,” she gasped, breaking through the crowd to join them. “Is the whole town here?”</p><p>“The Morgans know how to entertain, that’s for sure,” Ashlyn said dryly, “but don’t worry, most of the people will be gone soon, and then it’ll just be our friends.”</p><p>“Where’s Tobin?” Christen asked, accepting the tequila handle Ashlyn handed her and downing a careful swig of it. “…and Ali?” she added, a beat too late to be quite convincing.</p><p>Luckily, Pinoe and Ashlyn were already drunk enough that she wasn’t sure they noticed. “Ali’s making the rounds, she’s the doctor, you know, people love her,” Pinoe said. “Tobin…I’m not sure. I think the last time I saw her she was taking shots with Alex.”</p><p>Christen grimaced. When Alex had greeted her just now, she’d been polite, but her blue eyes had been icy and guarded. Most of the girls had seemed to get over Christen’s months-long self-exile without a problem, but it appeared that Alex Morgan was still holding somewhat of a grudge.</p><p>“What?” Ashlyn asked, catching Christen’s expression.</p><p>Christen flopped down on the couch and closed her eyes, feeling a little drowsy. “I don’t think Alex Morgan likes me very much,” she said, the alcohol in her system making her more honest than she otherwise would’ve been.</p><p>Pinoe said something that sounded like, “<em>She’s probably just mad she’s not the hottest girl in town anymore</em>,” but Christen couldn’t possibly have heard that right.</p><p>She let her head loll to the side, enjoying the faint, crackling heat from the fireplace, and the hum of conversing voices around her…</p><p>“Christen?”</p><p>Christen opened her eyes and jumped. The room was dark and devoid of people, the only light radiating from the fireplace. Tobin was standing at the side of the couch, holding a near-empty beer and looking down at her with an amused expression.</p><p>“Sorry, I just turned off the light because I thought nobody was in here, but then I saw you—let me go get the switch again.”</p><p>“No, no, it’s fine,” Christen muttered, embarrassed, pulling herself up to a seated position and swiping sleepily at her eyes with the back of her hand. Someone—probably Pinoe or Ashlyn—had draped her coat over her as a makeshift blanket. Her head spun as she sat up, and her brain slowly processed that she had somehow crossed the threshold from tipsy to plain old drunk while she dozed.</p><p>“I think…I’m drunk,” she said, half to herself.</p><p>The smirk on Tobin’s face widened to an affectionate grin. “Yeah, I’m getting there too.”</p><p>“How long…how long have I been out?”</p><p>Tobin plopped down on the couch. Not so close that their knees were touching, but not all the way across the couch, either. “Can’t have been too long. I think I saw you trying to escape the crowds in the kitchen just fifteen minutes ago. Or maybe twenty?”</p><p>Christen cast a panicky look over her shoulder to see if anyone else was going to come in and talk to her, but amazingly, it appeared that the crowds had indeed started to clear out, as Ashlyn had promised. “There were so many people!” Christen giggled, flopping back against the couch cushions again. “Do people everywhere, like, grab onto your shoulders when they want to talk to you? Or is that just an Oregon thing? I think my shoulders are bruised…”</p><p>“They’re just excited,” Tobin laughed a little apologetically. “You’re the star of the show tonight! No Barberry Stone team for any sport has ever won a state championship. You’re everyone’s favorite person.”</p><p>Christen raised an eyebrow suggestively at Tobin. “Thought that was your role in town.”</p><p>Tobin rolled her eyes; Christen could see her cheeks turning a little red even in the dim firelight.</p><p>“Don’t think I’ve forgotten that hero story where you saved a guy’s life and then mowed his lawn for him and babysat his kids…”</p><p>“Stooop,” Tobin groaned, sliding down on the slippery leather sofa and grabbing a nearby throw pillow to bury her face in.</p><p>Christen obliged and let her up teasing, and they sat in satisfied, comfortable silence for a few more moments. Christen let out a contented sigh. The room seemed to ebb and flow around her in her peaceful, drunken glow. “The girls did so well tonight, didn’t they?”</p><p>“They sure did,” Tobin said, casting a proud smile over at Christen. “Sounds like that had everything to do with your coaching. Lindsey told me that you asked them to think of one person to play for, and that it got her through the game.”</p><p>“I bet hers was Sonnett,” Christen said dreamily.</p><p>“They’re really inseparable, huh?” Tobin chuckled. “Although I suppose I should be a little offended that I wasn’t the person Lindsey chose.”</p><p>“Well,” Christen shrugged. “I played the game for you; you were the person I chose.”</p><p>Tobin’s eyes rounded in surprise, and Christen wasn’t sure if she was picturing things or if Tobin’s cheeks were turning a little rosier. Maybe it was just because it was hot in the room, with all the drinking and the bodies packed tight elsewhere in the house and the warm firelight flickering nearby—registering this, Christen absentmindedly tugged her knit sweater over her head, leaving herself in nothing but a thin black tank top. <em>Is Tobin’s face getting even redder? Man, it must be warmer in here than I thought. I can’t believe I just noticed. </em></p><p>“But anyway,” Christen chattered on obliviously, tossing her sweater aside onto the couch, “we were down at halftime and it was awful, because if we lost, obviously the girls would hate me, and you would hate me, and maybe I’d get fired, so I’m extra glad we won!”</p><p>Tobin shook her head, as if trying to clear a fog out of her brain. “Wait, what? I could never hate you—and also, you’d never get fired for losing the state championship game. What are you talking about?”</p><p>“Well, I don’t know…” Christen said, trying hard to concentrate as she turned over Tobin’s words in her mind. They didn’t make much sense to her. She thought of all the many people her father had fired over the years. Who <em>she</em> had fired, taking part dispassionately and coldly in firing decisions and exit meetings. “There are consequences for failure. You don’t just get to keep doing a job if you’re bad at it.”</p><p>Tobin laughed in disbelief. “Chris, you took a girls’ soccer team from a tiny town in the middle of nowhere, who didn’t even have a coach for half of their last season, and led them all the way to the state championships. Win or lose, it’s a Cinderella story, and you’re a brilliant coach, a genius. You love these girls like they’re your own, and you changed their lives for the better. Hey—” Tobin placed a gentle finger under Christen’s chin, which had dipped down at the familiar and terrible sound of the word “genius,” and tipped it back up so that they were looking into each other’s eyes. “Hey, Chris, you believe me, right? You’re magical. And I could never hate you. No matter what.”</p><p>“No matter what?” Christen’s words sounded frail and a little desperate, even to her own ears. But Tobin didn’t seem to register. Instead, she placed her warm hands on Christen’s bare shoulders, holding her firm.</p><p>“No matter what,” Tobin repeated.</p><p>Maybe Tobin meant for the soft massage of her hands on Christen’s shoulders to be comforting, reassuring. And it was.</p><p>But also the heat of her palms, the rough, probing dip of Tobin’s calloused thumbs, over and around the ridge of Christen’s collarbones—the way Tobin had leaned in, suddenly, so their faces were just a breath away from each other—</p><p>It sent a strange, charged tension buzzing through Christen’s body like a current.</p><p>And suddenly that look was back in Tobin’s eyes, the one from Thanksgiving night—a dark, desiring, heated stare that sent Christen’s head spinning and stomach whirling. Tobin’s glance swept from Christen’s eyes down to her lips, raking down the rest of her body and drifting back up to the curve of her neck. The air in the room was suddenly thick and charged, as if a lightning storm was brewing in the distance. Slowly, Christen raised one hand and traced a slow finger along a vein on Tobin’s arm, watching in fascination as the hair on Tobin’s arm stood on end at the light touch.</p><p>“Hey, bitches!”</p><p>Christen and Tobin leapt away from each other so quickly that by the time Kelley’s figure followed her voice around the corner, they were both huddled awkwardly on opposite ends of the couch. Kelley, brandishing a beer in each hand, didn’t seem to notice anything. “We’re playing Never Have I Ever in the living room, let’s gooo!”</p><p>“Never Have I Ever?” Tobin echoed dryly—but she was already standing up from the couch, adjusting her tousled hair self-consciously. “I thought the high schoolers were partying at Sonny’s tonight.”</p><p>“Har, har. Shut up. It’s a classic. Everyone’s in. None of your snobbery, Heath,” Kelley yelled, already sweeping out the door to the kitchen to round up more stragglers.</p><p>Christen made up an excuse about going to the bathroom, and hurriedly Googled the rules of the game, lest she get stuck in a situation like the one with beer pong last time. <em>Why must everyone in Oregon play stupid games with their alcohol? Why can’t you just sit and drink it like an adult?</em> She thought disgruntledly. In her drunken haze, she got a little distracted examining the assortment of fancy soaps and tracing her fingers over her collarbones, remembering Tobin’s touch, and when she finally got out to the living room where Kelley was happily passing out beers, she was one of the last ones there. The party had died down to just the usual crew of girls, and Tobin was already across the room, sandwiched between Alyssa and Kelley on a window seat. Christen curled up on a chaise lounge next to Ali, satisfied to be on the edge of things in a darker corner of the room.</p><p>The game kicked off, and luckily, the rules were very self-explanatory. Christen couldn’t quite figure out who was supposed to drink when—it just seemed like everyone was drinking constantly, whether they were putting fingers down or not—so she just rolled it as well. Games where people could find out more information about her…well, that wasn’t exactly Christen’s cup of tea.</p><p>On the other hand, it could be a good vehicle to lie about little things. In the first round, she randomly put fingers down for things she had never done, like “never have I ever cheated on a test” (it was hard to cheat on a test when you always took tests alone, seated across the table from your eagle-eyed tutors) and “never have I ever snuck into a movie” (she had never been inside a movie theater, although she had seen them in movies—meta).  She kept her fingers up for things like “never have I ever ridden a horse” (no need to open herself for questioning about the sunrise horseback rides she’d taken along the beach on their family vacations to Sardinia).</p><p><em>This is not so bad</em>, Christen thought. <em>I could do this all night</em>.</p><p>Becky kicked off the second round. She owned the bookstore in town, which also sold tech gadgets and electronics, and her first round question had been about an obscure book. “Never have I ever…” Becky paused and thought for a second. “…owned…anything from Press Electronics.”</p><p><em>Shit</em>.</p><p>Christen’s whole body tensed up. Luckily, none of the drunken girls looked her way. And not a single person put a finger down.</p><p>“Not even you, Alex?!” Ashlyn hooted.</p><p>“Listen, I’m rich, but I’m not <em>Press Electronics phone</em>-<em>owning</em> rich,” Alex whined. “Seriously, who has four grand to drop on a cell phone? Or like, six grand for a laptop?”</p><p>Christen shifted uncomfortably in her seat, recalling the many board meetings discussing Press Electronics’ absurdly high prices. Their margin was enormous. Her father had always refused to budge.</p><p><em>What we’re selling,</em> he used to say, <em>is unattainability. What makes something a luxury? When you want it but you can’t have it: that’s luxury. </em></p><p>“That’s why Richard Press is like, a trillionaire,” Pinoe slurred, raising her drink to nobody in particular. “Richard Press! Give me your money!”</p><p>Christen glanced over to where Tobin was lounging, laughing at Pinoe’s antics. She remembered what Tobin had said on Thanksgiving: <em>It’s unethical to hoard money the way that family does</em>.</p><p>She breathed a sigh of relief when the game moved on, but peril struck again just two questions later. “Never have I ever…” Julie’s eyes glinted devilishly in the low lights, “…kissed a girl.”</p><p>Groans arose as fingers dropped all around the group. “That’s targeting!” Kelley complained good-naturedly. Ashlyn leaned over and gave Ali a peck on the lips, drawing groans and wolf whistles in equal measure.</p><p>Under cover of the commotion, Christen snuck a glance over at Tobin, equal parts hoping and fearing what she’d see.</p><p>Tobin had dropped a finger.</p><p>Christen’s eyes flickered upwards: Tobin was taking a sip of her beer. Her eyes flickered over to observe Christen’s fingers—just for a split second, so fast Christen almost wondered if she imagined it. Then she was chuckling at something Alyssa was saying, and staring out distractedly into the hallway. But she looked ill at ease, with a crease between her brows.</p><p>She had noticed. She’d definitely seen that Christen hadn’t put a finger down.</p><p>It didn’t take long before the gays retaliated. As soon as it was Ashlyn’s turn, she smirked smugly at Julie. “Never have I ever kissed a <em>guy</em>.”</p><p>Everyone knew it was coming, so after the requisite complaining, the group quickly moved on. Christen shifted self-consciously further into the shadows.</p><p>She hoped that nobody had noticed that she still had all five fingers up.</p><p>But of course, Tobin noticed. As Christen glanced across the room, she locked eyes with Tobin, who was unmistakably, unabashedly, staring at her, with eyes that were penetrating and darker than normal.</p><p>Great. Just great. Now Tobin knew that she, at twenty-five years old, had never kissed <em>anybody</em>. A deep, coiling feeling of embarrassment flooded her body as she quickly looked away, and she put her whole hand down under the guise of leaning forward to reach for her drink.</p><p>It hit her, too late, that she could’ve lied. She could’ve casually put a finger down for “kissed a guy,” and called it a day.</p><p>But she realized that that’s not what she wanted. She didn’t want to signal to Tobin that she was straight. In that split second, she had wanted to signal to Tobin…that she was available.</p><p>But all she had done was ended up signaling that she was a total loser, so…<em>shit</em>.</p><p>She put her head down on Ali’s shoulder and let Ali run her soft, comforting hand over her curls, and pretended to be asleep for the rest of the game.</p>
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<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>So...this was supposed to be a short chapter before an extremely long upcoming chapter. But as you can see, this has now become an extremely long chapter before another extremely long upcoming chapter. </p><p>I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!!</p><p>And I hope I can deliver the next chapter to you soon. Like I said, it's going to be looong, and it will consist almost entirely of flashbacks that will uncover much more of C's backstory.  I'm personally so excited for it because it contains some of the very first scenes I drafted for this fic, months ago.</p><p>Hope you're all staying safe! Much love.</p>
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    <p>Christen wished that the feeling of sweet, sweet victory after the state championship game could have lasted forever. Alas—it was not to be. After a few days of strutting around the school and basking in well-earned praise, the girls had to settle down fast. It was early December, and the semester’s finals were approaching. Even goofballs like Sonnett began walking around with stress creases on their foreheads, arms full of textbooks. Christen instituted a series of extra study hours after school, and her days were quickly filled with the sound of students muttering Spanish verb conjugations under their breath. Then there was a snowfall and the stress of acclimating to driving in the snow, and then the bathroom sink in her old little house started to drip, and all of sudden, the glitz and glamour of the soccer season was far off in the rearview mirror.</p><p>Luckily, through it all, she had Tobin. Sweet, sweet Tobin, who was always around now, with her bright eyes and easy smile and constant offers to hang out—even when the hangouts just involved Christen sitting at her kitchen table writing Spanish exams and Tobin lounging on the couch, reading a book or napping. The speed at which they fell effortlessly into the pattern of each other’s lives almost startled Christen. When Christen had a spare minute between classes, she found herself daydreaming about what she and Tobin would do later that day—the jokes they’d laugh at, the books and news they’d discuss.</p><p>After finding out that Christen was a terrible cook who ate toast and instant noodles for every meal, Tobin had also taken it upon herself to cook dinner for both of them, most nights. She would set a full plate down in front of Christen and watch as she took her first bite—like she couldn’t relax until she was sure that Christen liked it. And when Christen inevitably lavished compliments on her, because the food was always amazing, Tobin’s eyes would light up like stars, and her cheeks would grow bashful and rosy.</p><p>Since Tobin texted her nearly every day asking to spend time together, Christen had started to learn the general patterns of Tobin’s days. Since the paramedic worked a lot of overnight shifts, she often showed up at Christen’s all sleepy and fuzzy, eyelids drooping and words slow. (Not for anything would Christen have admitted how soft and endearing she found it.) The first time Christen looked over and found Tobin sprawled out on the sofa, fast asleep, head nodding gently onto the cushion, she had felt an enormous, affectionate smile spread over her face. And now, a couple weeks later, it was a common occurrence. Christen remembered how, at Thanksgiving, Tobin had told the story of how she used to let herself into Ali’s house to nap on the couch. At the time, Christen had marveled at that kind of friendship. <em>What would it feel like</em>, she had thought, <em>to be that close with someone?</em></p><p>And now—to her enormous disbelief, and her incredible luck—Tobin was here, in <em>her</em> house, napping on <em>her</em> couch.</p><p>It was a chilly Friday, late afternoon, and dusk was settling on the snow-covered neighborhood outside. Christen paused from the exam she was writing to glance over her shoulder at Tobin’s sleeping figure. Tobin was wearing a sweatshirt and sweatpants, but she had still wormed her way halfway under a couch cushion, as if trying to find even more warmth. Christen rose to fiddle with the thermostat, then grabbed a soft throw blanket from a basket. Fumbling a little awkwardly, nervous about making too much noise or moving too quickly, she laid it over Tobin.</p><p>As it turned out, she had no need to worry. Tobin slept on, like a rock.</p><p>Giggling a little, Christen grew a little more confident, adjusting the blanket to cover Tobin’s toes, tucking it in gently around her shoulders. And as she did, she felt a sudden surge of an unfamiliar emotion, so strong that she backed up a few steps to process it. It felt like—affection, protectiveness. <em>Care</em>. Her whole life, she had never taken care of someone else. She’d always been the one taken care of. But now, she realized, staring at Tobin’s sleeping form, she wanted to be there for this girl.</p><p>The realization hit her like a ton of bricks, so glaringly obvious, so inevitable—<em>Christen, you want to be with her. </em></p><p>Taking several deep breaths to steady herself, Christen strode back to the kitchen table and sat stiffly in a chair. Folding her arms tightly around her body, she tried her best to push the revelation back down into oblivion, but it was impossible. Despite her best attempts to live in peaceful denial, the thought had been floating around the periphery of her thoughts for weeks. Now that it was out of the box, there was no way to shove it back in. <em>You’ve got a crush. You’ve totally got a crush on Tobin Heath</em>.</p><p>Christen attempted to turn back to her exam drafting, but her fingers trembled on her laptop keyboard, and she gave it up. She looked back over at Tobin, asleep on the sofa. <em>Okay, fine. FINE. You like her. Maybe you have to admit that</em>, she warred internally with herself. <em>But nothing can come of it. Nothing can ever happen</em>.</p><p><em>But what if it can?</em> A smaller, hopeful voice piped up from another part of her consciousness.</p><p>Christen shoved her laptop away and buried her face in her arms on the table, but the image of Tobin’s sleeping face—so peaceful, so <em>innocent</em>—floated to the front of her mind. <em>You know you can’t. She’s wholesome. She’s a pure small-town girl. And then look at you. You’re a total mess. You’re damaged goods. You’ve got secrets to keep, and what if you have to leave Barberry Stone soon? It’s not like you can take her with you.</em></p><p>The thought of departing from Barberry Stone, never to see Tobin again—not to mention Ali, Ashlyn, Pinoe—and her students—was so painful that Christen promptly shoved it aside. Instead, her brain spiraled sideways into an easier form of denial to handle. <em>Tobin doesn’t like you anyway, so you don’t need to bother fantasizing about what-ifs</em>, she told herself, so strongly she almost believed it. <em>She said she just wanted to be friends, so you’re friends. Bringing you flowers didn’t mean anything. She brought Ali and Ashlyn flowers too. Napping on your couch doesn’t mean anything. She napped on their couches too. See? Nothing’s going to happen because even if you have a crush, it’s totally one-sided. </em>She rolled the idea around in her mind and felt the truth of it start to sink into her skin.</p><p><em>Besides</em>, she told herself, latching onto her strongest argument, <em>after that Never Have I Ever game, she knows you’re a loser who still hasn’t kissed anyone. </em></p><p>It’s true that Christen had grown up isolated and strange, but hey, she watched movies and read books. Based on those, she knew that she was a weird outlier in this regard, someone others would regard as pathetic. Meanwhile, Tobin, who was everything Christen wasn’t—easygoing, popular, hot, charming—was surely much more physically experienced than Christen was.</p><p><em>See? She doesn’t like you. There’s no way she’d like someone so uncool</em>, Christen told herself. This time, she really felt herself believing it. <em>She’s just being nice because you don’t have any other friends; you’re like a pity project</em>. <em>She even said so when you first got here—she knows what it’s like to be the new girl.</em></p><p>Satisfied at her own mental gymnastics, and now firmly convinced that Tobin wasn’t interested in her, Christen returned to exam drafting. She felt an aching heaviness in her chest—hey, no one ever said that an unrequited crush was easy—but at the same time, she also felt a sense of relief. She didn’t need to make a decision about what to do about her crush now. It was simply out of her hands.</p><p>She put on her headphones, angled her chair to face away from the couch, and got down to work.</p><p>(She so successfully distracted herself with exam drafting that an hour later, when Tobin woke up, she didn’t notice—didn’t notice the sleepy little way Tobin stretched out her arms and legs, or the soft, startled expression on her face when she realized Christen had draped a blanket over her, or the way she lay still for several long minutes, just staring at Christen with a gentle, awestruck smile.)</p><p>By the time Christen noticed movement in her peripheral vision, Tobin was up on her feet, bunching up the blanket in her arms. “Thanks for this,” she said, with a grin that was nothing more than friendly and casual. “Where should I put it?”</p><p>Christen paused. Until now, she’d been trying to keep the house spotless and bare as possible. She didn’t want this to all start to feel permanent. But looking at Tobin’s happy little smile, she relented. “Just leave it on the couch; I’m sure you’ll be using it again by tomorrow,” Christen teased, removing her headphones. “How was the nap?”</p><p>“It was great, I totally needed it.” Tobin stretched on her way to the fridge, then started pulling out an assortment of vegetables she’d brought over earlier in the week. “There was an emergency call from one of the homes up in the mountains, and it was hard to get up there because the roads hadn’t been properly cleared, so we were busy all night with that.”</p><p>“What happened?”</p><p>Tobin chuckled. “It’s kind of funny, actually, in hindsight. This sweet old lady was trying to reheat a sweet potato casserole for a midnight snack, and the marshmallows on top caught on fire in the stove. She was lucky to get away with just some singed eyebrows, but her kitchen is toast. Stovetop totally roasted.”</p><p>“Oh, man, I’m just glad she’s okay,” Christen said, closing the lid of her laptop and setting it aside. “Bet you’re going to be getting a lot more cooking accidents as the holidays are coming up.”</p><p>“You have no idea. The amount of people who think they’re some master chef with a carving knife—” Tobin broke off with a shudder, and Christen laughed.</p><p>Then the tenor of Tobin’s voice changed a little. “What, uh, what are you planning on doing for Christmas? If you celebrate?”</p><p>“I do! Or…I did.” Christen fought to keep a despondent expression off her face. Her mother used to love Christmas, and it’d been a huge deal in the house when Christen was little. “But, um, I don’t really have any plans right now.” As the words came out of her mouth, she hated how pathetic they sounded. She’d almost certainly spend the holidays alone in her little house, eating toast and instant noodles, triple-checking that the doors were locked, and stalking her little sister on the internet. Maybe if she'd thought faster, just now, she could have made up a fake friend nearby to visit, and just left to stay in a hotel for a few days.<em> This is so pitiful. And she doesn’t even know that it’s my birthday, too, that I’m going to be spending alone. </em></p><p>“Yeah…I guess I figured. You know, with your family…and everything,” Tobin said, sounding a little flustered. She was leaning against the kitchen counter, turning a stray tomato over and over in her hands.</p><p>“I bet the rest of you are all going to be out of town, right?” Christen asked, trying to keep her voice light.</p><p>“I know Pinoe is visiting family, and I think Ali and Ashlyn have plans out of state as well. I…” Tobin trailed off. “I don’t know, would you want to hang out?”</p><p>“On Christmas?” Christen looked up in surprise.</p><p>Tobin’s fidgeting hands fell still, and she bit her lip, the edges of her mouth creeping up into a shy smile as she stole a glance at Christen from under her long eyelashes. “Would you want to?”</p><p>Tobin’s words sent a warm, tingly feeling shooting through Christen’s entire body. “Um, yeah,” she breathed out. “That…would be really fun, if you’re in town.” And then, in a rush of sudden vulnerability, she added, “To be honest, I probably would have just been all pathetic and lonely on my own here.”</p><p>Tobin’s smile softened. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?”</p><p>Christen took a breath. “And actually, December 29<sup>th</sup> is my—”</p><p>But Tobin had suddenly frozen, cocking her head to the side as if listening for something. “Is there someone here?”</p><p>On instinct, Christen bolted to her feet. Her heart stopped beating for a long, horrible second.</p><p>Heavy footsteps were sounding on the front step.</p><p>“Christen?” Tobin’s concerned voice sounded like it was coming from the other end of a long tunnel. The doorbell rang. It, too, sounded far-off and fuzzy. “Are you going to get that?”</p><p>“I wasn’t expecting anyone…” Christen forced the words out of her throat. She quickly stepped to the kitchen window and reached for the curtain with shaking hands—</p><p>What if she’d been found? What if there were large men, men with weapons, standing at her doorway, waiting to snatch her. Would she run? Would she beg? Most importantly—more important than Christen’s own well-being— how would she protect Tobin?  </p><p>She brushed the curtain aside and peered out—</p><p>And then felt her whole body sag in relief.</p><p>It was Alex Morgan and a plumber with a toolbox. <em>They’re just here to fix the fucking sink</em>.</p><p>“Christen?” Tobin repeated. She’d suddenly appeared at Christen’s side, and she laid a warm, steadying hand against Christen’s upper arm. She peered out the window over Christen’s shoulder. “You good? What’s wrong?”</p><p><em>That was too fucking close. Get it together, Christen, you’ve got to be more careful</em>.</p><p>“I’m fine, sorry…I think I’ve been sitting and staring at that screen for too long. I just got a little lightheaded when I stood up.” Christen lied effortlessly, and rubbed her eyes a little for added effect. “It’s just Alex with the plumber. Her family’s my landlord, and I called the other day because the bathroom sink was dripping.”</p><p>The doorbell rang again. Once, twice. Patience was clearly not one of Alex Morgan’s strong suits.</p><p>“Well, if you’re not feeling great, just sit down,” Tobin said worriedly, steering Christen back towards her chair. “I’ll let her in.”</p><p>Her heartbeat still pulsing violently, Christen sat down and tried to hide her trembling fingers as Tobin strode over to the door and opened it. “Hey, Lex! And Steve, hi, long time no see.”</p><p>There was a long pause, as a frigid breeze swept in through the open door.</p><p>“Tobin? What are <em>you</em> doing here?”</p><p>Christen groaned internally. Now that her initial panic was dying down, she realized that this situation was also…not ideal. She and Tobin had mostly been hanging out alone—hiking, or just lounging around in Christen’s house. And that was perfectly fine with Christen, who did not need to be publicly associated with Tobin, the most popular girl in town.</p><p>But now, here was Alex Morgan, who already seemed skeptical of Christen, standing here in Christen’s doorway. Her piercing, ice blue gaze trailed slowly from Tobin’s tousled appearance…over to the blanket on the couch…towards Christen, sitting at her kitchen table…and then up to the mess of groceries on the counter.</p><p>“Um, just hanging out with Christen,” Tobin said casually, hands in her pockets. If Alex’s doubting expression was bothering her, Tobin wasn’t letting it show at all. “We were just about to make dinner.”</p><p>Christen, satisfied that her hands had stopped shaking, now rose to join them. “Hey, Alex!” she said, trying to sound casual. “And hi, Steve? I’m Kristen Channing. Thanks for coming by. Let me show you where the sink is.”</p><p>As Christen led the plumber down the hallway, she heard Alex say, “So…is this why nobody can get you to hang out these days? You’ve just been here!?”</p><p>Christen winced at the obvious judgment in Alex’s voice. <em>“Just” been here?! Ouch.</em> <em>If she already wasn’t a fan of me before, this is clearly not going to help things.</em></p><p>It took a while for Christen to explain the faucet’s dripping issue and for the guy to get started working on it. By the time Christen left him to tinker and came back out in to the front room, Tobin was whistling and chopping up vegetables at the counter, and Alex was sprawled out comfortably on the couch. She and the plumber still had snow boots on, which had tracked dirty slush all over the floors.</p><p><em>As if she owns the place</em>, Christen growled internally, and then it hit her—<em>because she does own the place</em>.</p><p>She stood unnoticed there in the doorway for a long moment, gritting her teeth in irritation, forcing down her feelings of wounded pride. <em>Seriously, get ahold of yourself. You’re not Christen Press anymore. Kristen Channing doesn’t own a damn thing. She is a humble, subservient loner. She lives at the mercy of her kind and gracious landlord, Alex Morgan.</em></p><p>“Looks like he’s all set over there for now. Can I get you anything to drink, Alex?” Christen asked, surprising even herself with how calm and pleasant her voice sounded.</p><p>At the sound of Christen’s voice, Tobin turned from chopping vegetables with a spontaneous smile on her face. Alex looked slowly from one girl to the other. If Tobin missed Alex’s hypercritical stare, Christen did not. <em>Shit, this is not good</em>.</p><p>“Water would be great, thanks,” Alex said. She rose and followed Christen into the kitchen, then hopped up to sit on the counter with the glass of water.</p><p>“So, you two have been spending a lot of time together recently, huh?” Alex said, raising an eyebrow as she paused to take a sip. “I mean, Christen, you’re like, our new town hero, so I’d say Tobin’s lucky to be hanging out with you as much as she is. You should let her get out and see her other friends once in a while, though.”</p><p>Alex’s tone was light, but Christen still flinched. Judging from the wary look on Tobin’s face, the other girl wasn’t thrilled at the topic of conversation either.</p><p>“We’ve just been hanging out a bit. And with Pinoe, Ali, and Ashlyn,” Christen added.</p><p>“Yeah, I haven’t been living in a dungeon or something, Lex, just busy,” Tobin muttered, gathering up a handful of mushrooms and tossing them into the pot.</p><p>Still addressing Christen, and not Tobin, Alex said, “Kelley and I have been texting Tobin for weeks trying to get her to come out with us. You should come with us! Maybe this way, Tobin will come.”</p><p>(With the clear insinuation that if it were not as a method to get Tobin to show up, Christen would not be invited.)</p><p>
  <em>Gee, flattering. </em>
</p><p>“Thanks,” was all Christen said. She sat back down in her chair and folded her arms across her chest. She’d gotten great, over the years, at maintaining a poker face. She’d gone up against the country’s top businessmen and come out on top, over and over. Christen could easily handle one jealous little girl, trying to stake her territory over her tiny town where she was the queen bee. <em>But seriously, what is up with this?</em> Christen had to wonder. She thought about the last real conversation she’d had with Alex, in Kelley’s back yard, at that party Kelley had thrown way back at the beginning of the school year. The conversation had been about Tobin’s interest in Christen, but Alex had been measured and calm and mature. Friendly, even. <em>What have I done to get on her bad side in the meantime?</em> Christen thought. <em>Is it that Tobin hasn’t been spending enough time with her? Is that everyone’s talking about the soccer championship, so she’s not getting enough attention?</em></p><p>Tobin must have noticed the tension, too, because she scowled over at Alex. “Lex,” she said, with a little warning edge to her voice, “give it a rest. I’ve been busy. We’ll hang out soon.”</p><p>“Okay, fine, but we have to do it before you leave, okay?”</p><p>If Alex’s words—<em>before you leave</em>—hadn’t caught Christen’s attention, the sudden stiffening of Tobin’s shoulders would have.</p><p>“<em>Alex</em>, wait—stop—” Tobin stammered, the paring knife going still in her hands as she turned swiftly towards her friend.</p><p>“Oh!” Alex said in a tone of surprise, glancing dramatically from Tobin’s wide eyes to Christen’s confused expression. “Wow, Tobin, have you not told Christen yet?”</p><p>“Told me what?” Christen felt her folded arms tightening.</p><p>“Christen, I was just about to—I mean, I was planning on telling you—”</p><p>“Tobin’s going away for a few weeks,” Alex interrupted Tobin’s faltering attempts at a sentence. “Maybe even a month, right, Tobes? She’s going to California to help fight the wildfires. She’ll be there all through Christmas and New Year’s. And she’s leaving on Sunday.”</p><p>Tobin just stood there, white-faced and pathetic, and Christen felt faintly like the floor was dropping out from underneath her.</p><p>“Oh,” she heard her own voice saying. “…that’s cool.”</p><p>
  <em>So much for Christmas together.</em>
</p><p>“Isn’t it?” Alex enthused. “Everyone’s so excited for her.”</p><p><em>Everyone</em>. How did everyone know but Christen? Why hadn’t Tobin told her? And why, <em>why</em> had Tobin just acted like she was going to be around for the holidays?</p><p>“I haven’t decided yet!” Tobin protested, looking pleadingly at Christen, trying to catch her eye. “I…I got a call from one of our sister organizations down there, asking for firefighters and paramedics to travel down there to pitch in. But I haven’t committed yet.”</p><p>Alex cast a skeptical glance her way. “Ali and Ashlyn said it was a done deal.”</p><p>“Maybe Ali and Ashlyn don’t know what they’re talking about,” Tobin snapped.</p><p>“They said that <em>you</em> said it was a done deal, last week,” Alex dug in stubbornly. She turned to Christen and raised one perfectly arched eyebrow. “Don’t you think she ought to go, Christen?”</p><p><em>She was already telling people it was a done deal, last week?</em> That hurt. And what hurt more was the knowledge that Christen had told Tobin, had <em>just</em> told Tobin, that she would be <em>lonely</em> without her on Christmas—<em>pathetic</em>, even.</p><p><em>Well, how’s this for pathetic?</em> Christen thought, feeling tiny and left out and miserable.</p><p>But instead, Christen cleared her throat quietly, maintained her poker face. “Sounds like a great opportunity for you, Tobin,” she said smoothly, professionally. She kept her body angled in Alex’s direction, not Tobin’s. “Very…noble. You should absolutely go.”</p><p>“Christen…” Tobin said slowly, uncertainly.</p><p>“And anyway, sounds like you’ve already decided to go. Right?” Christen finished, still refusing to make eye contact, her voice sounding much calmer than she felt. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Tobin’s shoulders wilt a little.</p><p>“Well, there we have it! See, now everyone definitely agrees,” Alex chirped, as if oblivious to the thick, ominous tension in the room that she’d just created. “Like Christen said, it’s so noble. Christen, you better enjoy the hero worship while it lasts, because I’m sure when Tobin gets back, everyone will be fawning all over her.”</p><p>Christen bristled at the insinuation that she was loving all the attention—she knew she had never given off that impression, knowingly or unknowingly—but she held it in. Instead, she reached for her laptop and opened the lid. “Yes, and I’m sure she’ll deserve all the attention,” she said politely, not looking up from the screen.</p><p>There was another long stretch of painfully awkward silence. Then Alex pulled out her phone and started scrolling, humming under her breath as if nothing was wrong. After shooting one more pleading look in Christen’s direction, but failing to catch her eye, Tobin turned back towards the vegetables abandoned on the counter. Was it just Christen, or was the <em>thunk-thunk-thunk</em> of the butcher’s knife against the cutting board louder, more aggressive, than it had been just a few minutes ago?</p><p>Christen sat staring blankly, pretending she was reading something on her laptop screen, but really just wallowing in acute misery.</p><p><em>It’s not like she was exactly lying to you</em>. <em>She didn’t PROMISE to hang out, she just asked if you were free. She said she was still deciding</em> <em>whether she would go to California.</em></p><p>But a childish, indignant side of Christen flared up with a barrage of counterarguments. <em>She told everyone but you! Weeks ago! She let you blather on about how you’d be pathetic and lonely without her, and the whole time, she wasn’t even planning on being around!</em> <em>And then you had to find out from Alex like this—my god, it’s so humiliating—was Tobin even planning on telling you, ever? </em></p><p>And then the realization hit her:</p><p>
  <em>This is what people do. This is always what happens. They make you feel loved, and trusted, and cared for, and then you wake up alone one day to find that it was all a farce. You should’ve seen this coming from a thousand miles away. </em>
</p><p>She wanted nothing more than to run to her room and slam the door and shriek into her pillow and wallow in her self-hatred. But of course, she couldn’t, with Tobin moodily chopping vegetables in her kitchen and Alex sitting there on her phone, still a ghost of a smirk lingering around her lips.</p><p><em>It’s good Tobin’s going after all</em>, Christen told herself, forcing herself to calm down a little. She realized, all at once: since she and Tobin had started spending so much time together, she’d let her guard down. She hadn’t been checking the locks as frequently; hadn’t been making sure the hard drive was safe. She remembered, sitting there, that she’d gone days without checking Mal’s socials. <em>I shouldn’t have divulged so much. This reminder that she doesn’t actually care about me—that nobody actually cares about me—is good. It’s fine. I’ll get some much-needed distance for a month, and after she gets back, we’ll just re-start as casual acquaintances.</em></p><p>The sound of workman’s boots announced Steve’s return. “Sink’s all set, ma’am,” he said.</p><p>“Perfect!” Alex chirped, hopping off the counter. “Glad it was an easy fix. Bye, Christen! Bye, Tobin—I’ll text you about hanging out!”</p><p>When the door shut behind them, the silence was deafening.</p><p>Tobin turned as if to start talking, but when she saw Christen staring with ostentatious attentiveness into her laptop screen, she shut her mouth again and got back to chopping. Silence reigned again as she slid the chopped vegetables from the board into the pot, added the soup stock, and fiddled with the knobs.</p><p>When there was finally nothing left for her fidgeting hands to do, she turned back around to face Christen. She leaned against the counter and shoved her hands in her pockets. Christen was still stubbornly staring at her laptop screen.</p><p>“Christen?”</p><p>Christen didn’t look up.</p><p>“Christen, listen, I’m sorry. Seriously, I should’ve told you.”</p><p>“It’s fine,” Christen said flatly. Her fingers were trembling, so she opened up an empty Word document and typed some gibberish to make it look like she was doing something.</p><p>“Christen.” Tobin flopped down into the chair facing her and gently reached out to push the laptop screen down a little. “Please, can you…can you just look at me?”</p><p>Like a disgruntled toddler, Christen reluctantly looked up. The sight of Tobin’s worried face melted her a little, but she kept her stoic expression. <em>How can anyone ever look at that face and stay mad, though?</em> <em>She must’ve had her parents wrapped around her finger when she was little. </em></p><p>“Yes?” she sighed.</p><p>“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you.”</p><p>“Well, why didn’t you?”</p><p>Tobin’s face scrunched up as she reached up to scratch the back of her head. It looked like she was trying to come up with an excuse on the fly. In fact, it was the same expression she’d had the very first time Christen had ever seen her, when she’d stood by the hospital bed and floundered when Christen asked why she was there. Christen hated that expression. <em>Do you know the answer or not?! </em></p><p>“I…don’t know,” Tobin finally stammered.</p><p>“Great. Well, that’s convincing. I feel way better now,” Christen snapped, her hurt bubbling immediately to the surface again.</p><p>“I don’t have to go. I was thinking of not going…” Tobin’s voice trailed off.</p><p>“Really? Were you?” Christen kept her voice cold and resumed her fake typing. “I thought Alex just said that you had already been telling people that you’re definitely going. So go.”</p><p>Tobin froze. “You want me to go? Really?”</p><p>“Why would you stay?” Christen burst out, finally giving up her nonchalant pretense and slamming the lid of her laptop shut in exasperation. She felt the protective walls around her flying back up, at warp speed. “You said it yourself, everyone’s going to be gone. You were planning to be gone too. If you thought you had to stay and babysit me, don’t. I can take care of myself just fine. I always have.” (Christen knew that this was a blatantly unfair and untrue thing to say, especially with the delicious scent of the stew Tobin had <em>literally</em> just made her filling the close air in the small kitchen.)</p><p>“I know you can take care of yourself.” Now Tobin was getting frustrated, too. “Listen, I’m not trying to <em>babysit</em> you—”</p><p>“I don’t need you to feel bad for me,” Christen snapped. “Or treat me like the charity case, the sad new girl with the dead parents. I don’t need your help.”</p><p>“Oh, my god!” Tobin threw up her hands in frustration and pushed back her chair with a loud <em>thud</em> that make Christen flinch. “Don’t tell me we’re back here again, Christen. This is the same bullshit you were pulling at the very beginning, when I was just trying to be nice, and you were so insistent on telling me that you didn’t want any friends and you didn’t need anyone, ever—”</p><p>“What is <em>with</em> you?” Christen fired back, rising to her feet. “Tell me, why do you get off on me being pathetic and needy?”</p><p>“I <em>don’t</em>—”</p><p>“What was that, earlier—were you just trying to get me to say I’d be lonely so you could just rip the rug out from under me by telling me you weren’t going to be around after all?”</p><p>“Well, clearly, you didn’t mean it, right? After all, you just said you can take care of yourself, that you didn’t need my help, right?” Tobin stood up as well as she threw Christen’s words back in her face.</p><p>“That’s right,” Christen snapped.</p><p>“So I’m going, then.”</p><p>“Yeah, you should go.”</p><p>“Fine, I’m going to email back right now and tell them I’m accepting.”</p><p>“I’m surprised you didn’t already do that last week when you were telling everyone in town but me that it was a <em>sure thing</em>,” Christen bit out the angry words.</p><p>Glaring defiantly at Christen, Tobin whipped her phone out from her back pocket. “I’m…in. Thanks. See…you…Monday,” Tobin snapped out loud as she typed, every word laced with vitriol. A little beep sounded as she pressed send.</p><p>For a second, the two girls just stood glaring at each other, nothing but the sound of their heavy breaths between them. Christen felt like her stomach was crumpling into a tight, hard wad of paper, but she’d be damned if she was the one to cave first.</p><p>“Have fun,” she said bitingly.</p><p>“Yeah, I will. Guess I’ll see you in a month,” Tobin retorted, already marching over to the door, shrugging into her coat and stomping her feet into her shoes.</p><p>Christen shrugged and said the first and cruelest thing that came to mind. “Maybe, maybe not.”</p><p>Tobin flinched backwards as if Christen had struck her.</p><p>“Well…” Tobin began, as if to retort in kind. Christen braced herself for a final insult. <em>No wonder you don’t have any friends. Hope you enjoy your pathetic Christmas all alone. See you never.</em></p><p>“The soup needs to simmer for a while on the stove. Maybe an hour. There’s bread and cheese to go with it, on the counter.”</p><p>Before Christen could process Tobin’s soft-spoken words, the door was already clicking quietly shut behind her.</p><p>And instantly, the guilt hit.</p><p><em>Shit. Shit, shit, shit</em>. Christen slowly lowered herself into her chair and buried her face in her hands. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten into such a stupid fight—in fact, she was certain she had never gotten into such a stupid fight.</p><p>It was plain and simple—Alex Morgan had deliberately tried to rile her up, and she’d walked right into it, and she’d taken it out on Tobin. And now Alex had gotten exactly what she wanted.</p><p>The truth washed over her like a wave: <em>Tobin Heath is not your father</em>.  </p><p><em>How could I have been so idiotic? And so cruel?</em> Christen bolted to her feet again when she heard Tobin’s truck door slam.</p><p>The last time she’d gotten mad at Tobin, had been cruel and insensitive and had driven her away, she’d been terrified. She’d just arrived in town, and she hadn’t known what friendship was, how much it meant, how much it lit up her life. She’d driven Tobin away that time, and the distance had lasted for months.</p><p>For a second, she wavered in indecision. <em>Could I catch her before she leaves? </em>The truck engine roared to life. <em>No, it’s too late. She just emailed and committed to going. I goaded her into committing to going.</em> <em>And isn’t that what you wanted? A little distance?</em></p><p>
  <em>But I could at least apologize. I NEED to at least apologize. </em>
</p><p>Without only that thought in mind, and suddenly frantic to catch Tobin before she left for good, Christen flung the door open and flew out the door without a coat or shoes on. Her socks soaked through instantly as she dashed across the front lawn, not caring if any of her neighbors were around to see. Thank goodness, Tobin hadn’t driven off. Christen could see her sitting in the driver’s seat, in the dark, with the glow of her phone illuminating her face.</p><p>“Tobes!” Christen skidded to a stop at the truck door and pounded frantically on it. She couldn’t feel her toes, and her teeth were chattering, but she didn’t care. “Tobin, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it—”</p><p>Tobin flung the door open and, in a second, had wrapped Christen up in a huge bear hug. The force of the hug was so great that Christen stumbled backwards, and would have fallen had Tobin’s arms not been around her.</p><p>“Christen,” Tobin was gasping, her voice muffled by the fact that her face was buried in Christen’s shoulder. “Christen, oh, my god.”</p><p>Christen was delighted, but bewildered. “Tobin? Uh, okay, Tobin, you have to give me a chance to apologize first—”</p><p>“What?” Tobin cut in. As they pulled away from each other, Christen finally noticed Tobin’s face. Her expression had completely changed; the anger and frustration had melted away, leaving in its place a look of thrilled awe. “You saw? Ali’s text? Do you want a ride?”</p><p>“What?” Christen asked, bewildered. “I just—I just came out here to catch you before you left, to say sorry. What are you talking about?”</p><p>“Ali texted us, just now.” Tobin held her phone out to Christen so she could see, her fingers trembling with excitement.</p><p>“Tobes, the phone’s shaking, hold still—”</p><p>“She just heard from the hospital in Salem. Pia’s awake.”</p><hr/><p>By the time they were sprinting down the hospital hallway towards Pia’s room, a crowd had already gathered.</p><p>The whole ride to the hospital was a blur. Tobin had immediately pulled Christen into the truck, and they were halfway down the street when Christen shrieked, “Tobin, the soup!” at exactly the same moment that Tobin was glancing down and exclaiming, “Chris, you don’t have shoes on!”</p><p>After a quick retreat back to the house to turn off the stove and grab Christen’s shoes and coat and dry socks, they were back on the road.</p><p>Texts from Ali, Ashlyn, Pinoe, and all the girls were streaming in. “She woke up about an hour ago,” Christen read aloud from her phone to Tobin as they sped west through the gathering dusk, the setting sun tinting their hopeful faces with palest golden light in the navy evening gloom. “There’s a crowd already, but they don’t want her too excited, so they’re restricting how many people can go in the room to see her. She’s weak and not able to say full words yet, but her eyes are open and she’s recognizing people. They think total brain function will be restored.”</p><p>“Amazing,” Tobin said, and Christen glanced up, surprised to hear the slight tremor in Tobin’s voice. Tobin’s eyes were full, and she quickly pointed up at the sky and whispered, “Thank you, Lord. Thanks, Jesus,” before furtively wiping tears off her cheeks.</p><p>Then, to Christen’s surprise, Tobin reached over and grabbed her hand. With fingers still wet with tears, Tobin squeezed Christen’s hand in hers, and Christen instinctively squeezed back. A rush of tingling heat seemed to spread from her hand through the rest of her body. <em>All is forgiven</em>, the gesture seemed to say. Christen gently covered their interwoven fingers with her other hand: an unspoken response. <em>An apology. A reminder of the things that were really important.</em></p><p>Even after they reached the hospital, Tobin only let go of Christen’s hand for as long as it took to park the car. She grabbed it again as they ran across the parking lot and through the lobby, open coats flapping, hanging onto Christen’s outstretched arm as if for dear life. Christen, studying the joy and shock and gratitude that rippled in waves over Tobin’s expressive face, found herself appreciating, once again, how deeply this girl felt, how deeply she loved. Christen still didn’t know exactly how Tobin met Pia, or what their history was, but she sensed now for the first time that the connection was deeper than she had once thought. She sensed now that Tobin had been living in fear and doubt for Pia’s safety these past months, but holding it back, trying to be strong.</p><p>She squeezed Tobin’s fingers in hers, even harder, trying to pass on her own strength. Trying to say,<em> you don’t have to be strong on your own anymore.</em></p><p>They finally let go when they exited the elevator and ran down the hallway, where a crowd of all their friends, and other townspeople, was gathered outside Pia’s room, whispering to each other in low, excited voices. The mob crowded instinctively to let them through.</p><p>Pinoe had been standing by the door, peering through a crack in the turned-down blinds. When she saw Tobin and Christen run up, the three of them barreled into a tight hug.</p><p>“Just Ali and Ashlyn in there right now,” Pinoe said when they finally drew back, all wiping away a few tears. “The nurses have been trying to keep it to no more than a couple, but I think you guys can go on in.”</p><p>They stepped silently into the sanctuary of the dim room. Pia was sitting up, head drooping a little, eyes focused on Ali and Ashlyn, facing away from the door. Ali and Ashlyn immediately rose from the bedside seats to make way.</p><p>“Hey, Pia, look, more friends here to see you,” Ali said softly, gesturing towards the newcomers.</p><p>Pia turned. She saw Tobin first, who was standing between Christen and the bed. A weak, but clearly delighted, smile spread over her face, and she twitched her hand toward her, as if to beckon her forward.</p><p>And then when Tobin moved, Pia’s eyes landed on Christen.</p><p>Her eyes went wide and alarmed, as if Christen was an eerie hallucination.</p><p>“Pia?” Christen whispered.</p><p>Pia’s mouth was moving, jerky but frantic, trying to speak. Her hand waved Christen closer, agitated. The other girls in the room exchanged panicky looks. “What’s going on?” Ashlyn whispered.</p><p>“She’s never seen her here in Oregon before,” Tobin said suddenly, “Maybe she doesn’t even remember that Christen was coming.”</p><p><em>Shit, that’s right</em>, Christen realized. She froze just steps from the bedside, her hand outstretched tentatively, trying to get a read on Pia’s expression.</p><p>
  <em>What if she doesn’t remember anything? What if she doesn’t even remember that she asked me to come here? What if she’s still mad at me after all these years? She looks mad. She looks so upset. </em>
</p><p>“She’s trying to say something!” Ali said, leaning closer to Pia. “Pia? What was that? You can do it!”</p><p>Pia looked distraught as she fought to form words. Christen started feeling a little panicky. She caught Tobin and Ashlyn’s worried expressions out of the corner of her eye.</p><p>“Ch-Chr—” Pia said, her hand gesturing feebly. Finally, Christen couldn’t resist anymore. No matter what Pia thought of her right now, she loved Pia. She owed Pia everything. She reached out and caught Pia’s hand in her own.</p><p>“That’s right, it’s Christen,” she said softly, the first words she and Pia had spoken to each other in years. “It’s me. It’s Christen. I’m here”</p><p>“<em>Chris—</em>,” Pia gasped. Her grip on Christen’s hand suddenly tightened. “Christen—Chris, you—you’re h…”</p><p>“What?” Ashlyn said, concerned, leaning down as Pia’s voice died to a shred of a whisper. “What did you say, Pia?”</p><p>From the spot closest to Pia, Ali looked up. She glanced from Pia to Christen. Tears were shining in her eyes. “I think she’s saying<em>, Christen, you’re home</em>.”</p><hr/><p>“So, you know Tobin’s leaving for California tonight, right?”</p><p>Christen glanced over her shoulder, distracted from her all-important task of choosing between forty different kinds of tea. Ashlyn was standing on the other side of the grocery aisle, trying—and utterly failing—to look casual as she asked the question. She was leaning on the handlebars of their grocery cart, which was slowly filling up with stuff for Pia.</p><p>“…yeah.” The word creaked slowly, awkwardly, out of Christen’s throat. She hoped she didn’t sound quite as miserable as she felt. “Yeah, I know.”</p><p>Ashlyn seemed to relax a little. “So she finally told you, huh?”</p><p>Christen bit her lip. It would be easier to say “yeah” and change the topic. But to be honest, for the last two days, she’d been dying to talk to someone about Tobin’s departure. With Pia’s awakening, everything had suddenly pivoted to revolve around that. And sure, things had seemed to be okay that night on the ride to the hospital, but of course, those were special circumstances. What if Tobin was still mad? In the light of day, all of Christen’s uncertainties had bubbled up again. And with the swirl of planning and shopping and bedside-sitting to do, she hadn’t had a moment alone with Tobin. Even now, on Sunday morning, with Tobin’s departure looming that night, they hadn’t had any time to talk. Tobin and Ali both had to be at work, so Ashlyn and Christen were doing some shopping while some of Pia’s friends from the high school kept her company.</p><p>Ashlyn looked tough, but her eyes were kind, and Christen had a good feeling that she was an empathetic, caring person under that exterior. So Christen decided to tell the truth. “…no, Tobin didn’t tell me,” she admitted, dropping a couple boxes of ginger tea into the cart. “Actually, uh, Alex Morgan told me.”</p><p>Ashlyn’s eyebrows rose. “Oh. Well. Shit.”</p><p>“Yeah, and Tobin was right there, and Alex was like…rubbing it in my face that I was the last to know.”</p><p>“<em>Shit!</em>”</p><p>Christen had to laugh at Ashlyn’s indignant expression. It felt good to have someone who seemed to be on her side. “Yeah. That’s incredibly awkward, right? It wasn’t just me?”</p><p>“Definitely weird. Alex is…” Ashlyn pondered her words as they moved into the next aisle. “She’s pretty protective of Tobin, I guess. They’ve always been close, ever since Tobin first moved here a few years ago. But that seems weird, even for Alex.”</p><p>Christen hesitated a second, then took the plunge. “But actually—why didn’t Tobin tell me? Alex’s methods may have been a little…antagonistic. But she was right. Why <em>was</em> I the last to know?”</p><p>Ashlyn paused. Instead of making eye contact with Christen, she looked very absorbed in choosing a box of cereal.  “Have you talked to Tobin about this at all?”</p><p>“We…sort of talked.” <em>If you can call that screaming match a talk</em>. “We didn’t really get anywhere. And then Pia woke up, and…” Christen flung her hands up and gestured aimlessly around them. “You know, all this.”</p><p>“Well, I think that…I guess that…” Ashlyn fidgeted with her shirt sleeve. She definitely knew more than she was letting on. “I feel like Tobin would want to talk to you about this herself, but I’ll just say, you know she cares about you a lot, right?”</p><p>Christen scuffed her sneaker against the shining grocery store floors as they walked. She didn’t want to let Ashlyn’s words get her hopes up; didn’t want to start concocting stupid fantasies in her head. “Maybe? I guess.”</p><p>“Listen, girl.” Ashlyn threw her arm around Christen’s shoulders. “Trust me on this one. She cares about you. A lot. And she might’ve fucked up pretty bad by not telling you, but if you ask me, I think the reason why she left you until the last to tell was because she cares <em>more</em> about you than others, not because she cares <em>less</em>. But hey, don’t take it from me. You need to talk to her today, sometime before she leaves.”</p><p>“I’m running out of time,” Christen fretted. “She leaves tonight, and she’s working right now, and I’m supposed to be with Pia all afternoon—”</p><p>“We’ll find someone else to fill in with Pia,” Ashlyn said gently. “Be brave, Chris. Hear her out.”</p><p>Christen sighed. Now that Pia was awake, every moment felt precious. If the hospital let people sleep in the room, Christen might’ve tried to stay there overnight. As is, she wanted to spend every second of visiting hours there with Pia, watching her get stronger hour by hour.</p><p>At the same time, she knew she was being a little paranoid. What Ashlyn was saying made sense. She couldn’t let Tobin leave for a month without resolving whatever this was, hanging between them.</p><p>“I guess you’re right,” she said reluctantly. Ashlyn tightened the calming arm she had around Christen’s shoulders, and Christen let herself lean into the taller girl a bit. “Maybe I’ll go over and see her while she’s packing? Do you know where she lives?”</p><p>“Tobin’s place is a little far away from the rest of us,” Ashlyn hedged. “And she…doesn’t really like having people over. Don’t worry, though. I’m sure if you sit tight at your place this afternoon…say, around 3 PM, when she gets off her shift, she’ll come to you. In fact, I’m a hundred percent sure.”</p><p>Christen raised her eyebrow at Ashlyn. “…let me guess, you’re going to give her the same ‘you need to talk’ nudge that you’re giving me right now.”</p><p>Ashlyn announced, not even a little self-conscious, “Well, Ali might have already given her the nudge this morning.”</p><p>Christen burst out laughing. “You meddlers!”</p><p>“It’s because we love you,” Ashlyn smirked.</p><p>Accordingly, Christen let Ashlyn shove her into her car and send her home to Barberry Stone from the grocery store, with Ashlyn swearing—with an impressive bicep flex thrown in—that she was more than qualified to carry food back to the hospital all by herself.</p><p>Alone at home, Christen found herself neurotically watching the clock and straightening up the already-spotless rooms, all the while rehearsing in her head what she was going to say to Tobin:</p><p>
  <em>I’m very sorry for losing my temper with you. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>You’ve been very kind to me, and telling you I didn’t need you around was inconsiderate and ungrateful of me. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>You don’t need to feel like you need to tell me everything. I accept that I don’t have the right to know things before your other friends do. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The California wildfires are obviously very important, and you should of course volunteer. I was immature and overreacted. </em>
</p><p>And then there were all the things she felt, but would never say in a million years:</p><p>
  <em>How will I get through a month without seeing the way your eyes light up?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>When I look at you, I can’t imagine being apart from you for thirty days. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>You mean so much to me, it frightens me. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Please don’t make me trust you, just to leave me alone here.  </em>
</p><p>One thirty. Two o’clock. Two thirty. Three o’clock.</p><p>Her phone buzzed, and she lunged for it, had it in her hands before the sound had even stopped.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Tobin Heath: Would it be all right if I came over right now? Just for a bit. </em> </strong>
</p><p>For one wild, terrified second, Christen imagined if she just didn’t respond. But then she remembered Ashlyn’s words from that morning. <em>“Be brave, Chris. Hear her out.”</em></p><p>
  <strong> <em>Christen: Sure, I’m home. </em> </strong>
</p><p>Christen sat down on the couch in her cold, pristine living room to pick at her cuticles and overthink and agonize.</p><p>After what felt like forever, but was probably only about fifteen minutes, she heard the now-familiar sound of Tobin’s truck wheels crunching on her gravel driveway. There was a prim little knock on the door. She took a deep, shuddering breath, wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans, and opened the door to find Tobin standing there. She had a backpack over her shoulder and looked slightly terrified. It almost soothed Christen to know that Tobin had no poker face at all—and that she was a little nervous too.</p><p>“Uh, I brought some stuff for you,” Tobin began, dropping the backpack on the ground to take her shoes off. Her fingers fumbled a bit on the laces. “Some of it needs to go in the fridge.”</p><p>Grateful for something to do with her hands, Christen began unpacking. It was groceries: some cold cuts, some vegetables, cold brew coffee, a carton of oat milk. A couple boxes of tea. Some fancy veggie chips. “You didn’t need to bring anything over for me,” she said, surprised.</p><p>Tobin just shrugged on her way to the couch. “Actually, you’re doing me a favor. I had all this stuff in my fridge, but I’m going to be gone for a month, so it’s going to go bad if I keep it. I figured one of us might as well eat it.”</p><p><em>I guess that makes sense</em>, Christen thought as she stacked the groceries neatly into the fridge. <em>See? Nothing extra-friendly here. Just a logical distribution of resources.</em></p><p>She closed the refrigerator door.</p><p>She sat.</p><p>They stared at each other from opposite ends of the couch, neither moving or speaking.</p><p><em>Just say something</em>, Christen thought frantically. <em>You’ve rehearsed this.</em> <em>“Tobin, I’m very sorry for losing my temper with you. The California wildfires are obviously very important, and you should of course volunteer. I was immature and overreacted.”</em></p><p>“Tobin, I’m very—”</p><p>“Wait.”</p><p>Tobin was clasping her knees, so tightly that her knuckles were starting to whiten a little, and she was staring intently down at the corner of the coffee table. “I’m really sorry to interrupt. But, uh, could I go first?”</p><p>“Sure,” Christen heard her own voice saying. She felt like she was in a roller coaster car, nearing the top of the slow climb, with her stomach in her throat and no fucking clue what lay ahead.</p><p>Tobin took a bracing breath. “Okay, first, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about California.”</p><p>A perfect opening for one of Christen’s rehearsed lines. “No, don’t apologize. You don’t need to feel like you need to tell me everything—”</p><p>“No, that was on me. You shouldn’t have had to hear that secondhand from someone else. Especially since I implied that I would be around. That was just me being a bad friend, and I’m sorry.” Tobin cut in. For a second, she twisted her long fingers around each other, and then continued explaining: “I had put myself on this volunteer waitlist a long time ago, but I hadn’t heard back from them for a while and figured it just wasn’t going to happen, so I was surprised when I got the call. And I had really wanted to go, back when I volunteered. But suddenly, I couldn’t make up my mind. It made me frustrated at myself. Some days, I convinced myself I was sure. I think I told some other people, like Ashlyn and Ali, because I wanted to hold myself accountable. Like, if I told people I was going, then I had to go.”</p><p>She paused, rubbing her hands nervously against her knees. She still wasn’t looking in Christen’s direction.</p><p>“And I was going to tell you too. Every time I came over, I told myself I’d tell you I was leaving for a month. But I…couldn’t.”</p><p>The next pause was so long that Christen finally prodded, “…why not?”</p><p>“Why not. Why the fuck not,” Tobin muttered, with an accompanying scoff, so softly Christen could barely hear.</p><p>Then, louder, taking a deep breath and looking up at Christen for the first time, “Why not? Because when I look at you, I can’t bear the thought of being apart from you for thirty days.”</p><p><em>Hey, that wasn’t your line, that was my line</em>, was Christen’s first knee-jerk reaction.</p><p>And then, as it hit her—</p><p>
  <em>…oh, my god. </em>
</p><p>There was a weird ringing in her ears. <em>Did Tobin just say…</em></p><p>“I like you, Christen,” Tobin said miserably, into the stillness of Christen’s silence. Her words coming fast now, as her eyes roved Christen’s face with a sort of resigned desperation. “Like, a lot. For a while now. And I’m sorry, because I know you’ve been going through some stuff—and I know I told you that I just wanted to be friends, and I don’t want to put any pressure on you—and of course, telling you that I was going to cancel this whole trip because I can’t stand the thought of not being around you for a month, well, that’s obviously a lot of pressure. Too much too soon, I know. And I didn’t want to put you in that position, so I didn’t say anything. But every time I looked at you…I just wasn’t strong enough to say that I was leaving. So I was putting it off. And then Alex…well, you know. And I think I messed everything up, but I was just trying to protect you—I mean, all I want to do is be here, to be around—shit, I don’t know. You tell me. Did I mess everything up?”</p><p>If Christen hadn’t already been sitting, her knees would have buckled beneath her by now. She felt like Tobin’s words were swirling around her like a swarm of fireflies, and she was trying to grasp at them, get them in some kind of order, but they were eluding her.</p><p>Tobin’s face fell. “Um, Christen? Did you hear me?”</p><p>“Sorry,” Christen said stiltedly.<em> She said,</em> "<em>I like you." She said, "I like you, Christen</em>."  </p><p>
  <em>Could I have misheard?</em>
</p><p>“You…like me? Are you sure?”</p><p>Christen could only imagine the bewilderment on her own face.</p><p>For the first time since she’d walked through the door, Tobin seemed to relax a little. She let out a breathless little chuckle and inched slightly closer to Christen on the couch. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m pretty sure.”</p><p>“Like…in a dating kind of way?” <em>She said, "I was going to cancel this whole trip because I can’t stand the thought of not being around you for a month."</em> “Me, really?”</p><p>Again, Tobin laughed a little. Again she edged a little closer. Her eyes took on a tinge of hope. “Yeah, Christen, in a dating kind of way. You, uh…you seem kind of surprised. Do you…” she took such a deep breath that Christen could see the rise and fall of her shoulders. “I guess it would be too much to hope that you like me too? In a dating kind of way?”</p><p>“I…” Christen fell silent. The fireflies were still swarming. She knew the truth, of course. But how could she say it aloud, speak it into reality, without everything else falling apart?</p><p>“I don’t…<em>not</em> like you,” she said slowly. “But I don’t think you want to date me.”</p><p>Tobin had just started to break out into an enormous grin when Christen’s second sentence hit her. Her brow furrowed, but she moved even closer—gently, like she was approaching a wounded animal. “Christen? I’m telling you, though…I definitely want to date you. A lot. Trust me on this one.”</p><p>“Okay, but you’re not even asking me why you wouldn’t want to date me.”</p><p>“Okay, I’ll bite.” Tobin’s smile was soft, but a little confused. “Why wouldn’t I want to date you?”</p><p>Suddenly, Christen felt lost for words. <em>Where to even begin? Where to start in the long list of things that are wrong with me? </em>“It’s complicated.”</p><p>“What’s complicated about it?” Tobin asked. Her honey brown eyes were sweet and soft. “And that wasn’t rhetorical. You can tell me anything, Christen, really.”</p><p><em>Guess we’ll start with the obvious</em>. “I mean, you’re you. And I’m just…me. Everyone loves you, and I’ve never even dated anyone before.” Christen’s voice trailed off pathetically.</p><p>Tobin’s face softened. She inched closer still. “Christen—”</p><p>“I’m not <em>good</em>,” Christen blurted out, reckless and exhilarated and broken, all at once. “I’m not—I’m not normal. I don’t know how to be around people. I don’t know how to care about people.”</p><p>Tobin’s face grew even more confused, but she didn’t back away. Instead, she reached out a hand and placed it, feather-light, on Christen’s leg. The touch sent ripples of shivers over Christen’s skin, like a pebble into a still lake. “But Christen. I think you’re good. I think you’re normal. I’ve seen how much everyone here loves you, how much you care about your girls, your students. You’re so good. You’re so loving. Why are you saying this about yourself?”</p><p>Christen shrugged, miserably. “You said earlier…you said you knew I was going through something. And you’re right. You didn’t know me before I came here. You didn’t know what I was like; what I’ve done.”</p><p>The statement hung, loaded, in the air between them.</p><p>“Did you…” Tobin seemed to be weighing her next words carefully. “Did you do something bad?”</p><p>Christen let out a short, sardonic laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, you could say that.”</p><p>She sank back in her seat, causing Tobin’s hand to fall from her leg, and stared down at her feet. She couldn’t bear to look up into Tobin’s face. That was as close as she’d ever come to admitting anything, to anyone. <em>I did something bad. </em>She bit her lip and waited. <em>Don’t cry now</em>, she told herself, <em>get ahold of yourself, Presses don’t cry, at least don’t cry in front of her, wait until after she leaves</em>. <em>She’s definitely going to leave. </em></p><p>But then Tobin said, so softly, so simply: “But you’re trying to be better now. Right?”</p><p>Surprised, Christen glanced up. Tobin was studying Christen with a serious expression on her face.</p><p>“Yeah. I am trying.” Christen felt the words stick in her throat, raw and real.</p><p>“Okay, so.” Tobin held her hands up, palms up. “That’s all I need. You’re trying to be better. I want to be around for that. If you let me, I want to help you try.”</p><p><em>I want to help you try</em>. Christen mouthed the words to herself in disbelief. Tobin, watching her, laughed a little, the cutest little giggle Christen had ever seen.</p><p>“Don’t you care?” Christen blurted out desperately. The words escaped her before her brain even had a chance to catch up, to groan in exasperation. It was just instinct, at this point—to self-flagellate, to drive people away, to not let herself be happy. “Don’t you care about what I did? You’re not going to ask?”</p><p>“Sure, I care. If it’s bothering you, I’d want to know. Eventually. I’d want you to confide in me one day. But I trust that you’ll tell me in your own time.” Tobin shrugged. The gesture was casual, but her eyes were intense, drilling into Christen’s. “And in the meantime…I’m not scared, or anything. I know you’re a good person, okay? I just know that I want to be around while you decide that for yourself. I just want to be with you, Chris. I can wait.”</p><p>Christen gulped, the pit in her stomach deepening. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to tell you what happened.”</p><p>“Like I said, I can wait,” Tobin repeated, her voice ringing with confidence.</p><p>“You don’t mean that.” <em>Nobody’s that selfless</em>.</p><p>“Christen…” Tobin took a deep breath, rumpled up her hair with one hand as she struggled for her next words. “Okay. I know this might sound crazy. But right now, I can’t even imagine being with anyone else. I like you. You’re still making up your mind about me? You think you might like me, a little, ‘in a dating kind of way’? That’s enough for now. More than enough. If you want me to wait, I’ll wait. And maybe this trip will be good. You could just think it over, you know? You can take your time and think about it without me being around all the time. I don’t want to pressure you. But I want to wait. If you want me to. I mean, I’m not going to hang around like a creep if you want me to leave you alone.”</p><p>Christen had started to giggle a little towards the end of Tobin’s ramble. Tobin’s words had lit a tiny flame in the center of her chest. It felt fresh, scary, hopeful.</p><p>She should’ve said no, of course.</p><p>Should’ve said, “Sorry, I just don’t think that this a good idea.”</p><p>Should’ve said, “You should go out there and find yourself a normal, nice girl.”</p><p>Should’ve said, “Trust me, seriously, trust me on this one: I’m not worth the wait.”</p><p>But instead, in a flash, she found herself thinking: maybe. Maybe she had really, successfully gotten away from her past. Maybe she’d be totally safe, and she’d be able to live a peaceful life in Barberry Stone forever. Then she could give this a chance, couldn’t she?</p><p>The truth beat a steady rhythm in her chest: <em>I think I want her. I think I want this. She says she’ll wait. She says she’ll wait</em>.</p><p>“If you want to wait…” Christen breathed out. “I know it’s selfish of me to ask…”</p><p>Tobin’s smile was so brilliant it nearly took Christen’s breath away.</p><p>“There’s nothing I’d rather do. I just want you to think about this, okay? Take as long as you need. Just give the idea of us a chance.”</p><p>“I’m giving you a chance to back out,” Christen warned one last time. “I know I must sound like a broken record, but I’m telling you, I’m kind of messed up.”</p><p>Tobin’s grin had returned, confident and a little teasing. “You haven’t murdered anyone, have you?”</p><p>A slightly hysterical giggle rose in Christen’s throat.</p><p>“And listen, it’s not selfish of you,” Tobin continued, more seriously. “Please don’t say that. I’m the one asking you for a favor here. I’ll wait for your cue, okay? Next month, or the month after that, or the month after that. Until you decide no. Or yes!” Tobin added hastily, the cutest little hopeful grin tugging at the edges of her mouth. “Preferably yes. Obviously.”  </p><p><em>Yes, yes, obviously yes</em>, Christen thought, with a desperation so strong the words almost came out of her mouth. But she reined them back in. She had to be careful. She had to take the time Tobin had given her, to think this through.</p><p>But she did give herself a little bit of grace. She reached out a tentative hand and did what she’d been longing to do for months. As if in a trance, she traced her fingertips, feather-light, up the edge of Tobin’s sharp jawline, and then wove her fingers into Tobin’s soft, honey-lit waves behind her ear. Tobin bit her lip and leaned into Christen’s touch, her eyes awestruck, growing somehow darker and more luminous at the same time.</p><p>And then, because Christen wanted to be a little brave, too, she whispered, “I know you have to go. And it’s a good thing, what you’re doing, and I’m proud of you. But I’m really going to miss you. And…when I look at you, I can’t imagine being apart from you for thirty days, either.”</p><p>Tobin groaned, reaching up to tangle her fingers with Christen’s. “Chris, my god. I’m going to miss you so much. Just promise me you’ll be here when I get back. That’s all I need.”</p><p>And she almost promised, she did. The words were on the tip of her tongue. But all of a sudden, Christen remembered that moment from Friday. Footsteps on the front porch, the thought of armed men, the feeling of panic and bile rising in her throat. How could she make that promise? She couldn’t.</p><p>So instead, she just said again, with her heart on her lips, “I’ll miss you, Tobin.”</p><p>She walked Tobin to the front door, where they stood in silence with their fingers loosely intertwined, neither willing to be the first to let go.</p><p>She gave Tobin a shy, tremulous smile, and Tobin stepped up closer to her with a suspiciously wet sparkle in her eyes, and took Christen’s face in her hands, and on her hairline just above her ear, gave her gentle, lingering kiss.</p><p>And then she was gone.</p><p>Christen sank down onto the couch, her fingers tracing over the spot where Tobin had kissed her, her lungs still full of the smell of Tobin, sunny and fresh. The thought of the long days stretching before her without Tobin—the thought of Christmas, and her birthday, and New Year’s without Tobin—was hard to swallow. But still, a disbelieving smile played around the edges of her lips.</p><p>
  <em>She likes me. She likes me!</em>
</p><p>There were still a lot of complications, of course. A lot of things about her past she hadn’t spoken. Things she wasn’t proud of; things she wasn’t ready to say.</p><p><em>But in the end,</em> she found herself thinking, <em>in the end, when I came to Barberry Stone, I was hoping for a fresh start. Maybe it’s time to start</em> <em>considering the possibility of actually treating this like one. Starting with Tobin. </em></p><p>She unfurled the blanket from the edge of the couch and pulled it over herself. If she buried her face in it, she could almost pretend it still held a whiff of Tobin’s scent.</p><p>She woke hours later to a dark house and a rumbling stomach. It was past 8 PM, and Tobin was surely on the road down to California already. Yawning, Christen pulled out her phone to light her way to the kitchen. There was a text from Ashlyn waiting.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Ashlyn: How did it go?</em> </strong>
</p><p>Christen responded with a string of smiley faces as she opened the fridge and examined its meager contents. (With Tobin gone, she’d have to go back to feeding herself, she realized in chagrin.) There’d be a lot to debrief, and she was sure that Ashlyn, Ali, and Pinoe would want to hear every detail from both Christen and Tobin. She wondered how much they were in on it already. Maybe she’d call the three of them up tomorrow and ask if they wanted to hang out soon. Maybe the days wouldn’t be so long and lonely after all.</p><p>She reached eagerly for the carton of oat milk, already imagining a cozy night with a mug of tea. <em>Funny, I hadn’t pegged Tobin for a fancy milk and tea kind of person,</em> she mused, setting the carton on the counter. <em>Seems more the type to chug cold brew straight from the two-liter bottle</em>.</p><p>And then she noticed a weird texture, stuck to the condensation side of the carton. <em>What is that, is the carton peeling?</em> She reached out and swiped at it. It came off in her hand, and she sat cross-legged on the kitchen floor to examine it.</p><p>It was a damp grocery receipt, the ink already starting to run. <em>Carrots, spinach, taro chips, oat milk, cold brew coffee, Earl Gray tea. </em></p><p>And the timestamp was 3:06 PM, that afternoon.</p><p>These weren’t leftovers. These weren’t thoughtless dregs from the back of Tobin’s refrigerator; of course, they weren’t, because that wasn’t the kind of person Tobin was. She had gone to the grocery store that day. She had picked out Christen’s favorite things without knowing which way the conversation would go, because she had wanted to take care of Christen. No strings attached.</p><p>The contours of the receipt started to blur and dip as tears filled Christen’s eyes. Before she could stop herself, before she could second guess, she reached for her phone and pulled up Tobin’s name.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Christen: I miss you already. </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Christen: I’ll be here when you get back.</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Christen: I promise. </em> </strong>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>“Princess, is that you? Come in here for a second.” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen was heading down the hallway with an armful of notebooks when she heard her dad’s voice emanating from the door of his study. Following the sound, she peeped her head in with a cheerful grin. “Hey, Dad! What’s up?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Getting your school supplies all ready, I see?” Richard said approvingly, motioning for her to sit down in one of the chairs across from his desk.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Yep!” Christen patted the pile in her arms eagerly. “Studies show that you retain information in lectures better when you take notes by hand. I’ve never had to deal with the lecture format before, so I need every advantage I can get.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Kids these days, getting the luxury of choosing to take notes on laptops in college,” Richard chuckled affectionately. “In my day, all your notes had to be taken by hand, like it or not. Essays, too! I won’t regale you with tales of realizing that you wanted to rewrite part of an essay and having to literally retype the entire page on the typewriter.” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen physically shuddered, and Richard’s laugh boomed out, carrying out of the room and down the hallway. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>He was in an excellent mood nowadays. Press Electronics was thriving; the media was constantly touting them as one of the new leading tech companies in the world. And he was thrilled that Christen was heading off to start her freshman year at Stanford in a couple of weeks, bragging about her to everyone every chance he had—well, at least to the dozen or so people in the world who knew of her existence.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Speaking of kids these days and luxuries…” Richard finally collected himself and reached into his desk drawer for something. “Here, princess. A little something for you to use at school.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen gasped as her father handed over, in a glass case that was cut to look like a multi-faceted crystal, the newest iteration of the Press Electronics cell phone. She was familiar with the product—after all, she’d taken part in every piece of its existence, from the sourcing to the specs, from the software to the packaging. But she’d never had her own phone before—had never needed one, with the only people she knew within the four walls of this house.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Dad, you shouldn’t have,” she said affectionately, running her finger along the etching in the case. Vx5, it said; the fifth version of the famous luxury phone that had catapulted Press Electronics to the top of the Fortune 100. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Christen, you’re a good kid, and you deserve it. Your mother has raised you so well—you’re polite, you’re selfless, you work so hard. Other kids like you would’ve been throwing temper tantrums to get their own phone for years, but you never have. But you’re a college kid now, and you’re going to need that,” Richard said, almost wistfully. “I just can’t believe you’re growing up so fast. I just know you’re going to thrive at Stanford, and do me proud, just as you’ve always done. College today, world domination tomorrow, eh?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen laughed out loud as she rose to her feet, balancing her new phone on top of her pile of notebooks. “All right, all right, calm down, Daddy. College today, maybe a job tomorrow, and we’ll talk about world domination after that.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Fine, fine. I’m keeping it on the agenda, though,” Richard laughed his booming laugh again, and Christen knew he was only half teasing. “Have I ever told you I’m proud of you, princess?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Once more never hurts, Daddy,” Christen finished the latter half of their familiar refrain as she departed the office. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>She practically skipped up the steps into her room, where her mother was channeling her immense anxiety over Christen’s departure into making sure her every physical need was taken care of. Her mother had insisted that Christen live in the penthouse of the nicest, safest apartment in the area, and that Gerald, her steadfast old chauffeur, accompany her through all four years of college. The only bright side, in Christen’s mind, was that Tara was exceedingly careful not to make a big show of their wealth, in case it made Christen a target of suspicion. That suited Christen’s understated tastes just fine, and she was more than happy to agree for Gerald to switch out his usual Cadillac for a plain Honda Civic.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Today, Tara was standing in Christen’s room agonizing over her wardrobe. “I want your clothes to be beautiful and tasteful, but nothing with logos, all right, darling? Nothing that will draw attention,” she said as Christen entered the room. “Celine has a lovely Fall-Winter line this year, and I got you one of everything. Look at these gorgeous sweaters.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen trailed a hand over the piles of minimalist sweaters, dark denim, and shining black leather purses. “Everything looks great, Mom. But do I really need this much stuff? I already have some clothes.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Christen, darling, you have a lot of suits for business meetings, and then those strange, ugly sweats you like to collect, and nothing in between.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Stop!” Christen protested, laughing and pretending to cover her ears. She had recently discovered the world of streetwear, and had gotten really into buying pieces from Vetements and Off-White and Supreme whenever she had a chance. The price tags didn’t really register with her; she had very little concept of what amount of money was considered a lot. She just bought whatever caught her eye even though she had nowhere to wear them—mostly she just wore them around the house and on her private jet. Her enormous walk-in closet was crammed full of them, to Tara’s great chagrin and lamentations that Christen did not look like a young lady when she “dressed like a hoodlum.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Besides, you can’t wear those big logos every day, people will start to get suspicious of where your money’s coming from,” Tara declared, and Christen had to admit she was right. “Now, darling, look at this lovely black Sandro Paris dress—maybe a little too formal for classes, but very tasteful, hm?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“I don’t think I need so many new clothes for school,” Christen insisted, though she did love the dress her mother was holding up. “Don’t college kids wear the same jeans and sweaters every day? I’ll just buy a few Levi’s and Stanford hoodies and blend right in.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Fine,” Tara relented, taking up an armful of the Celine sweaters and blouses. “I’ll see if Mal wants these.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Mal?” Christen raised an eyebrow. “She’s ten years old. Won’t she think these are old lady clothes?” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Tara sighed and sank down to sit on the foot of Christen’s bed. “Darling, she’ll like them if she thinks it’s the type of clothes that you wear. She wants to be just like you, you know.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“I don’t really see why,” Christen insisted, barely containing an eye-roll. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>She was still stinging a little from her parents’ dinner table announcement, just a few days ago, that Mallory was going to be joining the area’s club soccer team—the traveling team, one that Christen had never gotten to play on. Mal would be hopping buses and planes with her teammates, and staying overnight at hotels, and probably attending sleepovers and birthday parties. Christen had forced a smile and congratulated Mal. <em>It’s fine,</em> she repeated to herself over the full plate of food she’d suddenly lost appetite for. <em>I wouldn’t have wanted that anyway. I’m happy with my life choices. </em></strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>But that night, tossing and turning, images of that shining green soccer field and Cassie’s pretty smile and gleaming black ponytail had filled her mind. She had finally tiptoed out of bed in the middle of the night to rummage in her desk drawers until she found it: a glittery silver invitation to Cassie’s sixteenth birthday party. For some reason, she’d hung onto it all these years, even after she’d never shown up to the party, or to the team again, had dropped everything and relocated to Press Electronics’ Barcelona headquarters for the better part of a year. She’d sat up staring at the invitation, pivoting it back and forth and watching the sparkles catch on the dim light, for hours. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Since that night, she’d had a bitter taste in her mouth every time she thought of Mal’s soccer team. <em>It’s not that I would have wanted all that—the traveling and the games and the parties</em>, she insisted to herself over and over. <em>After all, I loved my teenage years. But talk about a double standard! It was too dangerous for me, when I was fourteen, but it’s just fine for her, even though she’s still 10?!</em></strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Tara was studying Christen with a troubled look, but she let it slide. “Just make sure you check in with her before you leave, okay?” she suggested gently. “She’s getting to that age where she thinks she’s too cool to show emotions, but I know she’s really going to miss you.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“I’m sure she’ll have all her soccer friends to keep her busy,” Christen muttered under her breath. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>But, dutiful and obedient daughter that she was, she wandered into Mal’s room the afternoon she was scheduled to depart for Stanford. It was a high-ceilinged, lavish suite the exact size and shape as Christen’s. But where Christen had left the interior decorator’s stark white marble-and-glass vision basically untouched, Mal had put up posters and accessorized with bursts of color, pink and blue and yellow. Christen didn’t come into Mal’s room often, and she was struck by how tiny Mal looked in that big room, sitting with a stack of books on the floral covers of the king-sized canopy bed.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Mal glanced up as Christen strolled in, then did a double-take and placed her book down. “Christen, hi.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Hi, Mallory,” Christen responded, seating herself on the edge of the bed and casting about for something to talk about. She spied Mal’s soccer duffel bag in the corner. “Excited for the soccer season? It’s started already, hasn’t it?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Yeah,” Mal responded, wide-eyed and a little shy. Christen didn’t pop in to chit-chat much (or ever, really).</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“It’s cool that Mom and Dad are letting you join the club team,” Christen said, trying to keep her voice light and unconcerned and neutral. “They never let me. You’re so lucky.” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>For some reason, the tension in the room seemed to grow. Mal sat still, her expression inscrutable. She didn’t look like she felt lucky, and the lack of gratitude stung Christen a little, especially when she thought of the hidden silver party invitation in her room.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Aren’t you excited?” Christen pressed. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Yeah,” Mal finally muttered. “I’m excited.” She paused, and then blurted out, “But you know Dad’s probably only letting me do this because he thinks I’m not important enough to be kidnapped for ransom, or whatever they were worried about with you.”  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen forced a laugh, even though she wasn’t sure if Mal was kidding or not. “You’re mixing them up. Mom’s the one with the kidnapping nightmares.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Mal shrugged and looked out the window, her fingers playing in antsy patterns over the bedspread. <em>I don’t think Mom was right about her missing me</em>, Christen thought exasperatedly, <em>but just for Mom, I’ll give it one more go before leaving.</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen cast about for another topic to discuss. She glanced down at the book Mal had just put down. It was <em>The Giving Tree</em>, by Shel Silverstein. “Hey, I used to read this to you when you were little, remember? It’s for little kids. What are you doing with it now?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“I was rereading it. Just for fun.” Mal shrugged, still not willing to meet Christen’s eye. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen flipped absentmindedly through the colorful pages. The story was a simple one, about a boy and a beautiful tree. Over the course of the boy’s life, the tree gave and gave of itself to the boy whenever he asked: shade, apples to eat, lumber to build a house, until finally it could give nothing but a stump to sit on when the boy grew into an old man. “This actually used to be my favorite book, when I was little.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Well, that explains a lot,” Mal muttered. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Mal just glowered, but Christen pressed on. “Hey, Mal, what do you mean?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Mal hedged for a moment more, playing with the edge of her blanket. Then she said, in a rush of words, “Well, it’s like dad’s the little boy, and you’re the tree.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen felt her face contort with confusion. Her mind raced through examples of her dad’s constant encouragement, the way he boasted of her to his colleagues, the way his hard-earned money paid for all of Christen’s wants or needs, including the shiny new phone he’d just given her. “What? That doesn’t make any sense. Dad doesn’t take anything from me. In fact, if anything, in the analogy, he would be the tree. He’s the person in this family who provides for all of us, who protects us.” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Mal made a strange, scoffing noise under her breath. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Besides, even if Dad was the little boy and I was the tree, so what? It’s a cute story, about unconditional love.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Mal raised an eyebrow. “No, Christen, it’s a messed-up story, about an abusive relationship.” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Okay. Christen had had enough. <em>Talk about ingratitude!</em> Christen closed the cover of the book, maybe a tad too hard, and set it back down on Mal’s pile as she rose to her feet. ‘I’m leaving in an hour for Stanford,” she said briskly. “I’ll see you at Thanksgiving, okay?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Yeah,” Mal replied, staring down at her books. She didn’t look up as Christen closed the door behind her.</strong>
</p><hr/><p>“Pinoe, just because Sue’s mom mentioned a book one time doesn’t mean you need to read it immediately.”</p><p>“Yeah, but you don’t get it. If her whole family is like her, I need to be on point. I’m meeting them for the first time. And Sue’s like, SMART smart. She’s like…Christen smart.”</p><p>At the sound of her own voice, Christen jolted out of a reverie. She turned to see Pinoe, Ali, and Ashlyn standing a few yards down from her in Becky’s used bookstore. “Hm?”</p><p>“I was just saying that Sue is super smart, like you,” Pinoe explained.</p><p>“Oh, I’m not that smart,” Christen protested uncomfortably. Christen Press used to be smart. Brilliant, even. Which meant that Kristen Channing, who was a different person in every way, had to be intellectually average.</p><p>As the other girls wandered on, Christen looked back at the shelf that had initially distracted her. It was a shelf of children’s books, with <em>The Giving Tree</em> by Shel Silverstein propped in front.</p><p>A sudden memory had popped up into her head when she’d seen it. On a sunlit afternoon, what felt like lifetimes ago, Mal—just a little girl at the time—had looked up at Christen with those wide, solemn eyes, and said, <em>“It’s a messed-up story, about an abusive relationship.</em>”</p><p>With an unnerving shiver running down her spine, Christen hastened to catch up with the others.</p><p>Pinoe eventually found and paid for the book she needed to read to impress Sue’s mother, and they hustled over in the freezing cold to the Blue Barb for drinks, their breaths puffing in the air. Christen kept her frigid fingers in her pockets and her head bent to the wind, absolutely miserable. <em>I hate this weather. I hate this weather. I hate this weather.</em></p><p>Things perked up a little when the four of them were finally settled in a cozy corner booth with their drinks. Christen was still feeling the golden glow of having friends to hang out with, and she smiled appreciatively around at the group, trying not to make her happiness too obvious. They started by recapping Pia’s excellent progress in physical therapy and speech therapy, which was now being overseen by her family members who’d flown in from Sweden. Then the topic turned towards the all-important issue of Pinoe meeting Sue’s family next week. “All right, Ali and Christen, I need to ask you for advice on how to comport myself when I’m in the Bird house,” Pinoe said. “Like, I want to be myself. But not <em>too</em> myself. You know what I mean, right?”</p><p>“Why aren’t you asking <em>me</em> for advice?” Ashlyn exclaimed, affronted.</p><p>Pinoe rolled her eyes. “Let me spell it out for you, Ash. In each of these relationships, there’s a queen and there’s a court jester. You and me? We’re on the jester side. I already know what you’re going to say. Ali and Christen are on the queen side. So is Sue. I’m looking for some queen advice over here.”</p><p>Ashlyn raised an eyebrow. “Guess that puts Tobin on the jester side?”</p><p>“Yeah, I’m counting that as a relationship, even if it’s not official—”</p><p>“Hey!” Ali chided, elbowing Pinoe in the ribs as Christen’s face went bright red. “Calm down, Pinoe. Christen, we know it’s not a thing yet and that you guys are still thinking about it. And seriously, no pressure.”</p><p>Pinoe dug in. “No pressure, definitely no pressure, even though Tobin Heath is the greatest human to ever walk this earth—”</p><p>“Okay, okay,” Ashlyn finally cut in reluctantly, after a particularly pointed eyebrow-raise from Ali. “Have you heard from her recently, Christen? Well, more recently than the rest of us?”</p><p>“Nope,” Christen admitted sadly. She’d gotten a return text from Tobin that first night—a heart-eyes face and a shaka sign, which frankly, she wasn’t quite sure how to interpret—but the communications since then had been sporadic. “She sent one text the day after she got to California saying that signal was really bad in the mountains and she might be in and out of touch, and that it’d be hard to say when she’d text again.”</p><p>“She sent us the same message,” Ali frowned. “It’s definitely worrying, isn’t it? But Tobin is so good at taking care of herself. She always has been. I’m sure she’s going to be okay.”</p><p>She gave Christen’s hand a little squeeze under the table, and Christen grasped back, grateful. She didn’t want to admit that she stayed up at night, now, worrying about Tobin’s safety, and that hazy dreams full of smoke and sparks and darkness had now entered her nightly repertoire of nightmares.</p><p>“It’s crazy that she’s back in California. I wish I was in California,” Pinoe groused, staring at the frosty gray scene outside the window.</p><p>“Pinoe!” Ashlyn laughed. “It’s not like it’s a vacation for her.”</p><p>“I know, I know! Still, imagine the weather! Man, I’d give anything to be in LA right now. I’ve never even been to California once. Have you, Christen?”</p><p>Christen took a large swallow of her whiskey before answering. “No. No, I’ve never been to California.”</p><hr/><p>
  <strong>Christen settled into the padded conference room chair with a huff. Her shoulders were sore from heaving her backpack around on the Stanford campus her very first day of college, and her head spun after two back-to-back lectures, Macroeconomics and Business Analytics. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>She’d spent the first week on campus just holed up in her shiny new penthouse apartment, but even then, life was exhausting enough. First of all, what was cooking?! On her first night, Christen had burned a frozen taquito to a crisp in the oven and set off the fire alarm. The next day, she’d attempted to do laundry and somehow overfilled the detergent. She’d returned from a quick run to find bubbles and puddles filling the laundry room floor. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Still, any problem could be solved by throwing money at it. After doing her best to wipe up the mess, Christen had promptly Googled the best laundry pick-up in the area, as well as the best delivery restaurants. Learning how to cook and do laundry were skills for another time, she decided. She had to focus on schoolwork this year. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>The loneliness, though, was harder to remedy. She hadn’t quite thought of meals with her parents and attending Press Electronics board meetings as socializing. But now, she realized, they filled her days and occupied her mind more than she’d given them credit for. After several days of eating takeout alone on her couch, she called up her chauffeur, Gerald, and asked him if he wanted to grab dinner. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Sitting across from Gerald’s familiar, weathered face at the nearby fancy Italian place was immensely comforting. Gerald had been Christen’s driver since she was little. He had schlepped her back and forth from soccer practice and board meetings for years. He had even watched her cry in the backseat—great, heaving, snotty sobs—after she’d botched her first board presentation at thirteen years old, and then wordlessly handed her a pack of Disney princess Kleenexes so she could pull herself together before Richard saw her. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Your dad would kill you—and then me—if he knew you were eating dinner with the help,” he chuckled after they ordered. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen only laughed, though she knew it was true. “Sorry you have the world’s most boring job for the next four years. I’m only a ten-minute walk from campus. I’m not sure when I’ll ever need the car.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Gerald only grinned. “Hey, getting paid to do nothing? Don’t apologize for that, Miss Christen! Besides, you’ll need me for grocery runs, no?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen wrinkled her nose. “I’m not sure I’m going to be doing much cooking, Gerald.” And the sound of Gerald’s hearty laugh made the memory of the taquito disaster sting a little less. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Anyway, she’d finally made it to the first day of classes. After her two seminars, her last class of the day was a Supply Chain Management seminar. As the seats around her began to fill, she pulled out a neat binder with the class’s hole-punched syllabus right in front. The class was taught by a visiting professor, named Pia Sundhage.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>She was surprised at the person that came in the door: a petite woman with a shock of silver hair and a grandmotherly face. Her two lectures had been taught by stern, suited, bespectacled men. But as Pia dove straight into the materials, she could tell that this class would be anything but easy. Her fingers flew over her laptop keyboard, frantically trying to capture everything Pia was saying.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>After class, Christen hurriedly packed up her backpack, mind already whirring with all the homework she had to do.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Two midterms, and a final exam <em>and</em> essay? This is going to be killer.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>It took Christen a second to register that the voice was talking to her. She turned to see two girls, who’d been sitting near her, smiling her way.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Um, yes, definitely…killer,” Christen echoed, the unfamiliar slang rolling off her tongue.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“You said your name was Christen, right? I’m Jenni, and this is Alexis,” the tall girl standing closer to her said. “We were planning on heading to the coffee shop downstairs to get started on this week’s reading. Do you want to join us?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Um, no thanks, sorry,” Christen said with a sweet smile, but firmly.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“All right, maybe next time!” Jenni offered, and the two girls left without her. Christen packed a little slower, not wanting to run into them again in the hallway. Christen was just sneaking out the door when, to her surprise, she heard her name being called. Well, sort of her name.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Kristen Tyler?” Pia was saying.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Um, yes?” Christen turned. She tried to look natural.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Fantastic answer you gave about mitigating supply risks,” Pia said with an encouraging smile. “Normally, on the first day of classes, I don’t expect people to even do the reading—and here you are, clearly reading even the footnotes!”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen flushed red at the praise, feeling giddy.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“I’ll be honest,” Pia continued. “I was actually planning on keeping you after class anyway. You see, this is an advanced seminar. The prerequisites for it are Intro to Supply Chain Management, Macroeconomics, and Microeconomics. But you’re a freshman. This is your first semester of college, so you can’t have already taken those classes.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“I’m ready, I promise!” Christen said anxiously. “I…I actually went to the business school dean to make sure I could take this. I’ve been taught economics before. I’m taking Intro to Supply Chain and Macro this semester, so I’m learning that right now. I can read ahead in those classes to make sure—I mean, I just feel like I need to learn as fast as I can, and this class is so critical to understanding business management—”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Pia placed a comforting hand on Christen’s arm to cut off her rambling. “After seeing your performance in class today, I do think you can handle it,” she mused. “But I do want to reassure you that there’s no need to rush, my girl. You have time to take college one class at a time.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>Um, you really don’t get it</em>
  </strong>
  <strong>, Christen thought, but she was so awash with relief at the news that she could stay in the class, she let it slide. “Thanks,” was all she said. “I won’t disappoint you!”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>She spent the next few weeks studying furiously for all her classes, politely dodging additional requests from classmates to hang out and study together, and calling her mother every night to reassure her that she hadn’t been kidnapped yet. Everything was unfamiliar, but exciting. Christen felt like she was getting into a nice rhythm.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Four weeks later, Pia handed back their first set of exams.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen sat frozen with disbelief, staring at the stapled stack that Pia had handed her. <em>B+.</em></strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Quickly, before anyone could see the shameful score, she tucked it face-down into her binder. She could feel her heartbeat pulsing in her neck, could hear ringing in her ears.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>She put the hood of her sweatshirt up and fought back tears through the rest of class. Nobody else seemed to notice, and Pia graciously didn’t call on her to answer any questions.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>But after class, Pia once against stopped her on her way out of the room. “Christen. Why don’t you walk with me back to my office?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Miserably, Christen shuffled alongside Pia down the sidewalk. It was a beautiful late September day, and the blue skies and warm breeze seemed to be taunting her.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Have you ever gotten a grade that isn’t an A before, Christen?” Pia asked gently.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“I mean…” Christen tried to think of a way to answer diplomatically without touching on the fact that she’d never really had real grades, only private tutors. “I’ve always done really well,” she settled on saying. “I studied really hard for that exam.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“You got the second-highest score in the class, Christen,” Pia said.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen sniffed a little<em>. Second highest? Not nearly good enough.</em></strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“I just wanted to be able to tell my dad that I got perfect grades this semester.” Christen’s teary voice cracked a little in the middle of the sentence. “And you told me at the start of the semester that this class would be hard, and I said I wouldn’t disappoint you, and now I’ve let you down.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Pia chuckled. “Christen, I’m not feeling let down at all. Quite the contrary. If that’s what’s worrying you, don’t let it be.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>But I got a B, not an A</em>
  </strong>
  <strong>. Christen pursed her lips in confusion. <em>Isn’t it a professor’s job to be mad at me? My tutors would be furious. Daddy would…</em>she shuddered to think of how her father might react. <em>I clearly haven’t given my best effort</em>.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>They reached Pia’s office. Rather than heading to her desk, Pia gestured for Christen to take a seat on the long green couch in the corner. “You have time to have some tea with me?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Sure, I’d love to,” Christen said shyly. Honestly, she was bursting for a little companionship. She hadn’t had a real in-person conversation with another soul, except Gerald, since school started over a month ago. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Pia bustled around making some tea. “I’m not let down, but I am a little concerned, Christen. You’re excellent in class. You do all the reading, closely, and you never back down from making a point. You’ve been very impressive. But you know, grades aren’t everything. Taking the hardest classes, as fast as you possibly can, isn’t everything. You’re what, seventeen years old? You don’t need to have everything perfect and your life figured out at this point.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen gratefully accepted a cup of tea from Pia. She twirled her spoon anxiously between her fingers before responding. “I don’t think you understand…” she said slowly. “I <em>do</em> need to have my life figured out.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>She thought Pia would just brush her off automatically as yet another frenetic Stanford overachiever. But Pia just sat patiently, waiting for Christen to continue.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“My dad…my father is…” Christen struggled to piece the sentence together. “He has high expectations. And he’s right to. The work he wants me to do in the future is difficult. The position he wants me to take is not easy, and there are plenty of people out there who want the job—people who will be demanding that he is able to justify why handing it down to me is the right move.” She’d already heard of grumblings of discontent among the senior vice presidents. <em>“Even if Richard doesn’t retire for another ten years, his girl still won’t even be thirty! Can you imagine Press Electronics, helmed by a twenty-something? Ridiculous.”</em></strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“I need to be above reproach,” Christen finished.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Pia raised one eyebrow. “Nobody can be perfect all the time, Christen.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“I know that. He doesn’t want me to be perfect,” Christen protested. “He just wants me to be…trying my best.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Pia gestured to Christen’s backpack, where they both knew the B+ exam was stored. “And I’d say you tried your best here, right? So why would he be upset at you?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>For a second, Christen sat, stumped. But then the answer came to her, and it was so easy, so obvious.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Well, it’s not <em>the</em> best one could possibly do,” she said firmly. “So that means it’s not <em>my</em> best, either.” </strong>
</p><hr/><p>On the last day of classes before Barberry Stone High School’s Christmas break, Kelley hosted another party at her house. Christen had quickly learned that Kelley basically treated the academic calendar as a template for when to get drunk. (The general rule was that any time they weren’t expected to be teaching at 7 AM the next morning, they were expected to be getting drunk at Kelley’s.)</p><p>Christen had hemmed and hawed over whether to go—the thought of spending hours enduring Alex Morgan’s snide, passive-aggressive comments about how Tobin hadn’t been texting Christen was not exactly comforting. But at the very last minute, when Alyssa swung by her classroom after the students had poured chaotically out of the classroom after the last bell, she caved.</p><p>
  <em>Might as well go out. That’s less pathetic than spending the entire night wondering if Tobin’s going to text.  </em>
</p><p>She ended up enjoying herself far more than she had expected. It was a good reminder to her, she thought, not to get too tied up in a single person for happiness. She cozied up between Pinoe and Ali on the couch and, with the other teachers, regaled the crowd with hilarious teaching stories.</p><p>The crowd was already multiple drinks in when it happened.</p><p>“Look what I confiscated today!” Kelley yelled as she rummaged in her bag. She pulled out a shiny silver hand-held device, with a large screen and buttons along the side.</p><p>Christen had just been turning around from laughing at some joke Ashlyn was telling. When she saw what Kelley was holding, she almost dropped her drink.</p><p>“Oh my God, is that a Press Play? Fancy! You could hock it online,” Alex teased, taking it and turning it over in her hands. “I can’t believe any kid in town owns one of these!”</p><p>“A little mean of you to confiscate it on the day before break, no?” Alyssa laughed.</p><p>“Come on, you <em>know</em> Ashley Wakefield is a spoiled little brat, so if anyone deserves it, she does,” Kelley rolled her eyes. “I think this might actually be the first Press Electronics device in our entire town. It’s insane. It’s like half a month’s salary for most people around here. I’m trying to think of creative ways to give it back. I might hand it back to her mom at the Christmas Eve service in front of the entire church; that would be a riot.”</p><p>“What is it?” Ali asked, taking it from Alex and examining it with a critical eye.</p><p>“Haven’t you guys seen the ads for these? I feel like they’re everywhere!” Moe exclaimed. “They’re called, like, ‘Press Play’ or something like that.”</p><p>“According to my kids, they’re ‘like a Nintendo Switch but so much cooler!’” Kelley adopted a high-pitched children’s voice, and the girls all laughed.</p><p>“I’m way too old to keep up with things like this,” Julie shook her head.</p><p>Christen nodded mutely in agreement. As Ali lost interest, Christen took it from her, balancing the shining silver device carefully in her hands. She didn’t feel nervous around it because Press Play devices did not come with a camera. She’d seen the prototypes in the factories, but she’d never handled one of the finished, on-the-market products herself. She ran her fingers slowly across the shiny beveled edges, the little metallic buttons. They’d ended up moving the buttons down farther towards the edge, she was pleased to discover—just like she’d recommended once upon a time. In the large black screen, currently turned off, she could faintly see her reflection. She flipped the device over and traced along the recessed logo in the metal: <em>PRESS ELECTRONICS.</em></p><p>This entire product line had been her brainchild, once upon a time. Cradling the weighty, shiny piece of technology in her hands, she felt a sudden rush of loss. <em>There was a time I was in the room where things were happening. There was a time when I was able to make things happen.</em></p><p>She took a second to steady her voice, then held the device back out to Kelley. “I’m so out of the loop on these new electronic things,” she heard her voice say, light and airy. “Let’s stop talking about it. It just makes me depressed about how broke I am.”</p><p>The girls broke out into a chorus of laughter, and the flow of the conversation changed, thank god.</p><p>The only person who hadn’t laughed was Alex Morgan, Christen noticed, who had earlier loudly commented that Tobin was off in California being a hero and forgetting about everyone in Barberry Stone—emphasis on <em>everyone</em>.</p><p>And it wouldn’t have stung; really, it wouldn’t have hurt so badly, if it hadn’t been true that Tobin hadn’t texted Christen a single time since that first day.</p><hr/><p>
  <strong>When Christen came back from college for Christmas break, something was off.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Maybe it hadn’t been so bad during Thanksgiving. Or maybe Christen just hadn’t noticed. After all, she’d only been home for two short days, and she and Richard and basically spent the entirety of the two days hunkered down with business folks for Black Friday planning,</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Home for two weeks for Christmas, though, it now seemed painfully obvious: the slamming doors, the clipped, short conversations. Before she’d left for college, her parents had fought about Mal a lot. That fight seemed to be over; Tara seemed to have conceded the loss. Mal herself drifted around the place like an aimless ghost. After that thorny parting conversation, she barely met Christen’s eye anymore. On Christen’s end, she felt indignance bursting through her chest every time she saw Mal’s muddy cleats or heard her on the phone with her friends. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong><em>You have no idea how good you have it, kid</em>, she thought, thinking of the many all-nighters she was currently pulling, trying to balance her A+ grades and her company responsibilities all at once. <em>You have no fucking idea how much you have to be grateful for</em> <em>to this family. To Daddy. To me. </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Dinner on Christmas Eve was a strained affair. Mal was sullen and quiet, and Tara complained of a headache before dessert was even brought it. When she excused herself to find some painkillers, Mal slunk off too without asking permission. The atmosphere lifted a little after it was just Richard and Christen, chatting over mugs of rich hot chocolate and pecan pie. Richard wanted to hear all the details of college life, and Christen filled him in, leaving out little tidbits like how often she got dinner with Gerald. No need to rile him up unnecessarily with pointless details. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“</strong>
  <strong>What about your professors?” Richard asked, motioning to one of the servers for another piece of pie. “Are they excellent? For what we’re paying, they better be excellent.” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“I like them a lot,” Christen said enthusiastically. “They’re all very smart. Some are better lecturers than others, though.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Richard laughed. “Any standouts, in particular?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen opened her mouth, ready to gush about Pia and how wonderful she was. She’d been spending more and more time in Pia’s office; almost every other afternoon, now: lounging on the couch, drinking tea, talking about everything and nothing. But then she paused. There was an odd gleam in Richard’s eye; it was almost possessive.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“No,” she lied. “Well, maybe Professor Mendenhall, my corporate strategy lecturer. He’s great. Speaking of which, I had a business idea from his class that I wanted to run by you.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Richard lowered his fork, eyes gleaming. “A business idea! Do tell.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen took a deep breath. “We need to start targeting the consumer market younger, to build brand loyalty. Our main product now is cell phones, but parents don’t want to spend thousands of dollars on a pre-teen’s phone, so they end up going with a cheaper brand, and that brand sticks through adolescence and young adulthood.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Richard nodded. “Interesting, I’m listening…” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“So, what can we do to solve this, other than diminishing the price and prestige of the phone, which would be against Press Electronics’ long-term business interests in that market?” Christen felt herself seamlessly transitioning back into young-executive mode. “Here’s the big idea: we can get into handheld gaming consoles. I’ve done some preliminary research, and I think the market is ripe. We can get this device into kids’ hands early, make it the must-have thing. Then, a few years later, when their parents are thinking of cell phones, they’ll have this brand loyalty built up already.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Chrissy, princess…” Richard snapped his fingers excitedly. “Interesting. Very interesting. We should look into this. I can make some calls tonight.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Tonight?” Christen bubbled with excitement. “Really?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Yes, I’d like to get some feelers out sooner rather than later. Just in last week’s business meeting, Arthur and I were tossing around ideas for image revitalization, but none of the executives came up with anything good. But this! This is exactly what we need. I’ll call Bob and get this rolling.” He stood up from the table, pie forgotten. Before he whisked out the door, he gave Christen a quick hug around the shoulders and a peck on the forehead. “We miss your genius in those meetings, princess, we really do. I can’t wait to have you back.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Alone in the dining room now, Christen felt the glow of her father’s approval surrounding her as she finished her hot chocolate and pie in luxurious silence. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>The glow faded a little, though, as she finally left the dining room and wandered aimlessly through the corridors, her feet sinking silently into the plush red carpets. The main hallway was dark already, the chandeliers overhead glowing with a dim, self-contained light. The lights from the Christmas tree outside cast flickering gold-and-silver shadows, mingled with moonlight, through the windows. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>She heard her father’s voice from inside his study, booming as he made calls, so she quietly passed by. Instead, she made her way up the curving staircase, and her wandering feet brought her to Mal’s door. Some pop song was blasting through the crack at the bottom of the door. Christen paused with her hand resting on the doorframe. The song was saying something about love and getting a boy to look at you. The thought of Mal growing into a teenager, listening to music like that, filled Christen with a sudden, aching pang, and she turned away with knocking. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>A few minutes down was her mother’s room. It was dark and silent. Christen pushed the door open just an inch and saw her mother’s shape under the covers. Asleep already? It was barely eight, and her mother used to be a night owl like the rest of the family. <em>Weird</em>. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Filled with an even deeper sense of strange loss, Christen pulled the door shut silently and tiptoed away. She stood in the dim, echoing hallway for a long moment. The pitch-dark corners of the vaulting ceilings high ahead were giving her the creeps. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>Has our house always been this eerie? </em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>She ended up in her own room, alone, flicking on every lamp to illuminate the enormous space. The maids kept the room pristine in her absence. A little too pristine. The surface of every dresser, mirror, and window was polished to a sleek shine, and completely devoid of life. Christen paced around the room for a long while, adjusting and readjusting the already perfectly-placed pillows on the chaise lounges in the corner, absentmindedly flipping through the clothes in her walk-in closet, and staring out the window at the dark, vast grounds. Finally, she found herself rifling through her backpack. She sat down on the bed with a binder and opened it to find the syllabus for Pia’s class. There in the corner, listed with her office address and office number, was her cell phone number. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>Christen: Merry Christmas, Pia! I hope you’re having an enjoyable holiday season. </em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>But just as Christen’s finger was lingering over the send button, reality hit her. Her parents could probably see what she was sending on this phone. She wouldn’t put it past them to be constantly checking. They’d wonder who she was sitting here texting on Christmas Eve. Again, that strange, possessive look in her dad’s eyes at dinner floated to the forefront of her mind. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Biting her lip, with her eyes suddenly stinging, she backspaced letter by letter until the entire message vanished.<em> It probably would’ve been weird anyway, </em>she reasoned with herself, gently lobbing her phone across the room, where it landed on a pile of clothes on the chaise. <em>Pia would think it was strange that one of her students was spending time texting their professor instead of enjoying their holiday with family.</em></strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>She folded herself in under the covers and stared up at the dark, arching ceiling overhead, feeling desperately alone in a house that, for the first time, didn’t feel like home. </strong>
</p><hr/><p>It was Christmas Eve in Barberry Stone, windswept and gray and utterly disgusting.</p><p>Leading up to the holiday, Christen had comforted herself with the thought that, even though it was her first Christmas away from home, she’d at least get to see a white Christmas for the first time ever. But apparently, that was a total lie. Barberry Stone was bleak and dreary: desolate brown trees against misty gray mountains for as far as the eye could see.</p><p>Maybe if Tobin (or any of her friends) was by her side, Christen could attempt to romanticize the scene. After all, bleak and dreary could sometimes be cool. Hadn’t she read the Brontë sisters’ novels since she was little? But Tobin was gone, vanished into total radio silence. Ali, Ashlyn, and Pinoe had all headed out for their various commitments. After a visit to Pia, where Pia had been fast asleep and Christen had awkwardly tried and failed to chat with the visiting Swedish relatives for half an hour, she’d finally given up. Now she was huddled alone on her couch in her cold living room, sipping on lukewarm tea in the waning light.</p><p>Listlessly, she pulled up her phone to check the last text from Tobin, two weeks old, even though she could memorize it by heart by now. Then she clicked over to Mal’s Twitter. No new updates there, either. The last post had been one of Mal and Richard, posing all happy and affectionate, in front of an enormous Christmas tree outside the Press Estate. The first time the tree had been up in years.</p><p><em>Wishing everyone a very happy holiday season! My one wish is that we all can be as happy as me and Dad!</em> The caption read.</p><p>The sight of their beaming faces made Christen want to run to the sink and dry heave, though there was nothing in her stomach. Instead, she went and ate a piece of toast with peanut butter, sitting in the kitchen until dusk faded to night and she found herself, all of a sudden, alone in a dark house.</p><p>It seemed that life was determined to find her again and again in dark, cold houses, all alone.</p><p>Downtrodden and exhausted, Christen decided not to wait to ring in the holiday at midnight. She got ready for bed and was tossing and turning under the covers by 9:30 PM. Harsh winds wailed around the tiny house, shaking the glass panes. She fell asleep and dreamed of Mal, standing under a towering Christmas tree covered in flames, smiling as burning branches and scorched ornaments rained down around her. Richard was standing nearby, arms crossed, observing Mal with narrowed eyes, but not giving her any warning. Christen was screaming without sound, yelling at Mal to run, when Tobin came out of nowhere and tackled Mal out of the way of a branch that would surely have killed her. As both girls, shaken and bewildered, started rising to their feet, the entire tree started tipping towards them, branches groaning, sparks snapping loudly.</p><p>Christen bolted awake, covered in sweat, to strange gray light filtering in through the windows.</p><p>Groggy, she sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes—and then gasped aloud. Outside the windows, heavy snow swirled through silvery morning light, obscuring the sight of anything a foot beyond the glass. In her little room lined with windows, she felt like she was inside a snow globe, in a strange, muffled, glowing world.</p><p>She sat there for a long moment, staring out the window at the swirling snow. <em>Okay</em>, she conceded. <em>This is magical. I could get used to this. </em>She had been bracing herself for another long, miserable day alone at home, but with the help of the snow, maybe the day wouldn’t be so bad.</p><p>And when she checked her phone, she saw that a ton of texts had come in. Pinoe, Ali, and Ashlyn had all texted…Kelley and Alyssa…even some of the students. She opened them one by one, the edges of her lips pulled up into more and more of a smile, until she finally burst out laughing at a picture Lindsey had sent of Sonnett fast asleep on the carpet under a Christmas tree, cuddling with her puppy, Bagel. <em>Too much Christmas ham for these two</em>, the accompanying text said.</p><p><em>Not such a bad Christmas after all</em>. <em>Maybe this is the year that things start looking up.</em></p><p>She was about to put her phone down when she saw one more unread text at the very bottom of the list—</p><p>And it was from Tobin.</p><p>Heart beating fast, and fingers trembling, Christen opened the thread. There was a text and an attached audio recording.</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>Tobin: Merry Christmas, Kris! </em>
  </strong>
</p><p>As Christen clicked on the recording, the sound of some dull wooden clunking filled the room, as if the phone was being set down and adjusted repeatedly.</p><p>“Hey, Chris, it’s Tobin. Uh, obviously, I guess.”</p><p>Hearing Tobin’s voice, all warm and soft and hoarse and slow, as if she’d just woken up, enveloped Christen with a feeling she could never have found words to express. Like the moment you immerse yourself in a just-right bubble bath, combined with the swoop in your stomach as your plane takes off, combined with that feeling of seeing a long-awaited package arrive in the mail. Something like that, but so much greater, somehow. Christen felt an enormous smile spread over her face.</p><p>“Believe it or not, in this tiny motel they have us staying at tonight, there’s very weak cell service. Incredible, right? And a piano in the lobby. It’s, uh…” The off-kilter plunk of a few keys sounded in the background. “Not tuned up, not in the best shape, but it’ll do. I wanted to come down early, before anyone else could hear, to play you a little Christmas present. Because I’m not there with you in person. So, uh, here goes.”</p><p>The piano started up slow, floating and tentative, chords blending seamlessly one into the other, and then—Christen gasped aloud—Tobin’s singing voice, low and rough and sweet, joined in.</p><p>
  <em>Have yourself a merry little Christmas, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Let your heart be light</em>
</p><p>
  <em>From now on, our troubles will be out of sight…</em>
</p><p>Christen grabbed the phone and turned the volume all the way up. She squeezed her eyes shut, tears already rising, and pressed it to her chest. The vibrations of sound shivered through her ribs and radiated out through her body as Tobin sang on.</p><p>
  <em>Have yourself a merry little Christmas</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Make the yuletide gay</em>
</p><p>
  <em>From now on, our troubles will be far away.</em>
</p><p>Tobin’s voice grew a little stronger as she sang on.</p><p>
  <em>Here we are, as in olden days</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Happy golden days of yore</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Faithful friends who are dear to us</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Gather near to us once more</em>
</p><p>The wind whistled around the rafters of her tiny house, and Christen opened her eyes to take in the sight of white snow swirling wildly against the bedroom windows. She didn’t bother wiping the tears that were streaming out of her eyes as she listened on. Tobin’s voice grew even sweeter, if that was possible, and sank down into a whisper, as if she was telling a secret just for Christen.</p><p>
  <em>Through the years, we all will be together, if the fates allow</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hang a shining star upon the highest bough</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And have yourself a merry little Christmas now.</em>
</p><p>A muffled scuffling again, as if Tobin was picking the phone back up.</p><p>“Okay. I hope you…uh, I guess, I hope that wasn’t too bad. I’m sorry I don’t have a better present. I hope I can play you something in person one day. I…” Tobin’s voice trailed off, uncertain. “I miss you. I can’t wait to see you. And if you’re ever thinking of me, just know that I’m thinking of you too.”</p><hr/><p>
  <strong>She’d watched her all through freshman year, in all the classes they’d had together: the girl would always sit near the front of the classroom with a group of friends, and she’d raise her hand and always say sharp, perceptive, beautiful things, things that made Christen want to get to know her better. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>(And yes, maybe the girl made her feel things—things that girls were not supposed to feel for other girls. But Christen stubbornly shoved those feelings aside. She wasn’t in college to make friends, and she certainly wasn’t in college to meet boyfriends. Or girlfriends.) </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Her name was Vero, that’s what the professors always called her. <em>Excellent point, Vero. Great insight, Vero</em>. But of course, Christen never said a word to her. One time she thought they made eye contact at the end of a lecture, but Christen just scampered out the back door of the lecture hall and made a quick getaway down the sidewalk to her apartment.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Sophomore year rolled around, and Christen didn’t have any classes with the girl, which was an enormous relief and an enormous disappointment all at the same time. She kept a watchful eye out for her, but never seemed to see her around the business school building. But then, one day, it happened. At the gym, of all places, where Christen had never gone before. She always used to run in the mornings, and she had a room for yoga in her apartment. But there was one gloomy Saturday morning in November when it was pouring rain and she really wanted to run. So, between a torrential downpour and lightning strikes, she’d dashed the four blocks to the student gym.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>She’d been on the treadmill for about 45 minutes when the doors swung open and the girl and her friends walked in, soaked from the rain. The girl was laughing, was complaining, was—<em>oh my god</em>—taking her dripping wet shirt off and wringing it out in the garbage can, leaving her abs on full display.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen tore her eyes away before she could be caught staring; turned the treadmill pace up to a dead sprint; obstinately refused to look over at them as they made their way to the free weights.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>And then, half an hour later, when Christen finally thought she was safe, when she was cooling down, there was Vero, appearing right in front of her.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Hey,” Vero was saying, eyes bright and smile captivating, “your name is Kristen, right? I think we had some classes together last semester.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen was having a hard time processing with those abs right in front of her. <em>Oh, my lord. Get it together, Christen</em>.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Yes,” she said faintly, nearly tripping off the treadmill. <em>Hoooly abs</em>.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Cool,” Vero responded with a big grin, her friendly hazel eyes lighting up. “I’m Vero Boquete.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>I know</em>
  </strong>
  <strong>. “Hi, I’m…Christen.” <em>Shit, she already knows that, doesn’t she?</em></strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Vero was just smiling, seemingly waiting for Christen to continue, but that was when the panic hit. <em>Why is she talking to me? Does she know who I am? Maybe she already knows, because why else would she even be talking to me? There’s no other reason.</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen glanced over to where Vero’s friends were waiting. They were watching—and giggling. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>Or maybe her friends dared her to come over and talk to me, maybe it’s just a prank</em>
  </strong>
  <strong>.<em> It must just be a prank. </em></strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>And just in the nick of time, her phone screen lit up: it was her mom.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“I gotta go,” Christen blurted out abruptly, accepting the call in a panic, “…sorry. Bye!”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>She snatched up her water bottle and hightailed it out of the room, leaving Vero standing alone next to the empty treadmill.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Mom? Hey!” The rain had let up, and Christen headed out onto the sidewalk as she talked.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Christen?” Her mom sounded unusually worried. <em>Had something happened?</em> “Who was that you were just talking to?” <em>Oh.</em></strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Oh, it was just…” Christen figured there was no point in lying. “I was just at the student gym and there was someone talking to me, that’s all. But I told them I had to go when I saw you calling.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Chrissie, I didn’t realize you went to the student gym,” her mom fretted. “There were other students there? Who was talking to you? Were they bothering you? Did you know them? Did they know who you are?!”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Yes, there are other students at the student gym, Mom. No, I didn’t know them,” Christen said reluctantly. “They just came up—Mom, please don’t worry, I didn’t respond to them, I left right away—”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>But she could already hear her mom beckoning to her dad over the phone. “Richard, Richard! Chrissy was at the gym this morning and some boy was harassing her while she was exercising!”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>Oh brother. Wrong on all details</em>
  </strong>
  <strong>, Christen thought, her mind drifting back to Vero’s smile<em>. </em></strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Hey, Chrissy, what’s this I hear?” Now her dad’s booming voice was filling up the speakers. “Which boy is bothering you? Do we need him to disappear forever? Because we have people for that.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“<em>Daddy!</em>” Christen protested, glancing instinctively around the deserted sidewalk even though she had headphones on. “Don’t even joke about that!”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” her dad chuckled.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>(Was he, though?)<br/></strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“No, I’m kidding,” he repeated. “If anyone can hold their own, it’s you, Chrissy. Have I mentioned that I’m proud of you?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Only every day, Daddy dearest,” Christen grinned as she approached her apartment building. “But it never hurts to hear!”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Speaking of, I was wondering if you had time to attend a short work trip with me. Just a long weekend in Tokyo. I can have the VPs send you prep books of the materials—”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Oh my god, I’d love that. Is it about the negotiations with game developers for the kid’s device? Because I had a few more ideas after we watched that documentary on the early Microsoft years back in August—”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Richard! Christen!” Her mom’s fluttering voice was back on the line. “I’ve told you both, no more work trips during the semester—Christen is at school to live the normal life of a normal student—Chrissy, do you hear me?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Okay, Mom,” Christen grumbled.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Please just enjoy yourself, okay? Don’t worry about a thing. I’m going to have some things sent to your apartment.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>The next day, a full set of shiny, state-of-the-art home gym equipment showed up at Christen’s apartment. The message was clear. Christen never went to the student gym again. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>But there was that recollection of the low, roiling, hot feeling in her body when she thought of Vero. And there was this swooping sensation in her stomach, that reminded her of when she was just a kid, when she’d sneak glances out of the corner of her eye at Cassie Alfonso on the soccer field.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>Shit, I like girls, don’t I? </em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>The thought panicked her. She felt like she was spending all her time thinking about it, or rather, thinking about trying not to think about it. She knew she needed to talk about it, eventually, but with who? Certainly not her parents. Certainly not Mal. Gerald? Too personal. Pia?</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>Maybe Pia</em>
  </strong>
  <strong>, Christen thought, and she tucked that thought away into the back of her mind for a future conversation. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>But months flew by, and then a year, and she still wasn’t able to get up the courage to broach the subject, even though she spent hours upon hours with Pia. Christen signed up for two more of her classes (and then two more of Professor Mendenhall’s, just to make sure nothing seemed out of the ordinary to her dad). She spent most afternoons of her college career curled up on the sofa in Pia’s office, studying to maintain her 4.0 GPA while Pia graded papers. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Pia would chat about her past students, her favorite books, the family she missed back in Sweden. She’d talk about her teaching history, how she started as a math teacher in the local high school in her hometown of Barberry Stone, eventually taught business at a community college in LA for a few years, and after a receiving a statewide teaching award, was picked up by Stanford just a year ago. She talked about Barberry Stone, which she hadn’t been back to in years, but hoped to retire to one day. Christen loved Pia’s descriptions of the quaint little main street with its row of small businesses. It sounded like the entire town could fit into the Press Estates’ backyard—how cute! </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>In turn, Pia asked a lot about Christen. And little by little, the façade had started to slip. She started by telling Pia about the little sister she wasn’t very close to. She mentioned that her mother seemed a little off, frailer and frailer every time she went home—maybe the marriage wasn’t going well, she worried.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>And she talked about her father. His brilliance. His conviction. How much she missed him when he was away on international business trips. The pressure she felt in one day ascending to his role one day, making sure she lived up to the resources and time and love he’d poured into her throughout the years.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Pia never pried too deep or asked invasive questions about exactly who she was, even when it became crystal clear that Christen came from an unusually sheltered, unusually wealthy background. She just smiled and nodded and let Christen share what she would. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>But she pushed Christen in other ways: </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Why don’t you learn how to drive? It’s a necessary adult skill. Even if Gerald is usually around, what if there’s an emergency?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Why don’t you get out a little more, explore the area around your home? You said you’re from Los Angeles, right? There are so many things to do around there. The art exhibits alone! I can give you recommendations.” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Does your family business have a philanthropy arm? Have you considered starting one? There are so many good causes out there—education, for example. You could start local and create scholarship funds for students attending California colleges, like you are.” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Why don’t you get to know some of the other students? You’ve taken at least three classes with Jenni Hermoso now. I think she’d be a good friend to you. Or what about Vero Boquete or Meghan Klingenberg?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Some suggestions Christen took under consideration—others she did not. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>The driver’s license was a good idea. “It’ll make me seem like an adult to the other board members, like someone who’s not spoiled and sheltered,” she told her dad, and he readily agreed to have Gerald give her some driving lessons. With the right connections—and the right amount of money—it wasn’t hard to procure two licenses, one for Christen Press and one for Kristen Tyler. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Getting out an exploring LA was another good idea, and now that she was in college, it was hard for her parents to argue that she wasn’t mature enough to hang out in their own city by herself. On breaks back home, always with Gerald carefully trailing her in the car, she wandered in and out of the Broad, the Getty, and LACMA, swooning over Pollock and Renoir and Basquiat. More than anything, though, she especially loved the exhibits by local students attending UCLA and CalArts. It was incredible to her that people just around her age could be creating such masterpieces.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Which led her to her next push, the philanthropy arm. This one was an easy sell to Richard; all it took was one conversation about how it would legitimize Press Electronics as an industry leader in every way, like Bill Gates. Richard balked at the idea of scholarships for local college students, though, and also shook his head at Christen’s idea to collaborate with local students to put their artwork on Press Electronics’ line of accessories, like phone cases and laptop bags. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Higher education isn’t sexy enough,” he complained, “we need to think bigger. We can partner with the Metropolitan Museum of Art for the accessories, because we need to be partnering with institutions that are as prestigious as we are. Forget the art students. And Christen, we can hand oversight of the philanthropy arm off to a separate team. You don’t need to be wasting your time on that. We need you focused on the core company concerns.” Christen reluctantly took a backseat and gave up her higher ed ideas, to Pia’s disappointment, and consoled herself with the other good work that the philanthropy arm was doing. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>And as for making friends with other students like Jenni, Vero, and Meghan, who by senior year had become an inseparable little clique, widely admired by professors and students alike? </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Absolutely not.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Which voice in her head was the loudest? </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Was it her mother’s panicky exhortations, warning that anyone could be an enemy? </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Was it her father’s dismissive reminders that friendships were unnecessary for a genius like her? </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Or was it that little voice in her own head, telling her that she was a hopeless, gangly loser, an awkward loner, a poorly socialized hermit?</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Regardless, Christen stubbornly put her foot down. </strong>
  <strong>Every time Pia suggested that Christen get out more, Christen smiled cheerily and dodged the question and loaded up the flattery, saying, “Pia, you’re all the company I need!” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>And Pia never pressed harder. But as the years wore on, though Christen didn’t seem to notice, the worry lines in Pia’s forehead grew deeper and deeper when she paused to examine her young student. </strong>
</p><hr/><p>
  <em>WE LOVE YOU, PRINCIPAL SUNDHAGE!</em>
</p><p>So read the enormous sign that was taped in the hallway near of Christen’s classroom door, covered with little signatures and messages and drawings from Barberry Stone High School students. It was a sweet gesture, and when she had a spare second, she’d often pause to read the heartfelt notes.</p><p>But right at this moment, the passing of many feet and the chatter of voices around the sign were nothing but a distraction.</p><p>“<em>Rose</em>,” Christen said gently for the dozenth time, tapping her pencil on the paper on the table. Rose, wistful eyes wandering out into the hallway, jumped and stared guiltily back down at the SAT practice test. “Just nine minutes left of this section, okay? You can do it.”</p><p>“I know, sorry,” Rose mumbled, picking up her pencil with renewed vigor. Beside her, Sulli was tapping numbers into her calculator, staring down at the math problems with a deep frown.</p><p>SAT tutoring was vastly more fun for Christen than it was for the students. She missed the joy of her one-on-one tutoring sessions, and she found it easy and natural to go back to that style of teaching—this time, of course, on the teaching end. Plus, now that soccer season was over in the new semester, this gave her something to do to still stay connected with her kids on the long, freezing January afternoons.</p><p>Unfortunately, though the SAT tutoring was free, attendance was sporadic. Sulli came, dutiful and diligent, every day. Rose came most of the time. Sam and Lindsey and Sonnett and Abby showed up sometimes, but Christen suspected it was more to hang out with her than to actually study. Most of the other students didn’t come at all.</p><p>After the timer went off, and they walked through their answers together, Sulli let out a huge sigh and flopped back in her chair. “I think I’m getting better, Ms. Channing, but this is worse than the dentist.”</p><p>“I hate standardized testing,” Rose declared, her voice muffled because her face was down in her arms on the table. “Why do we have to do this. Whyyy…” her voice died out in a plaintive whine.</p><p>“Actually, that’s a good question you should always ask yourself—why?” Christen said gently, trying not to sound too preachy, but wanting to shake them out of this slump. “Sometimes it’s easier to slog through the hard stuff, hour by hour, if you remind yourself of your eventual goal.”</p><p>(She was remembering those long hours she spent studying on Pia’s office couch at Stanford, staring at her textbooks until the words blurred before her eyes and her back ached. But when she had closed her eyes, she hadn’t seen the words in front of her. She had seen herself standing proudly next to her father at a press conference, being announced to the world as the future CEO of Press Electronics.)</p><p>Blinking hard and bringing herself back to the present, she continued, “For you guys, I’m sure it’s for college, right? Andi, Rose, both of you have stellar grades, and if you ace the SAT, you would have a ton of options. You should dream big. When the going gets rough, picture yourself walking around on campus at your dream school, and let that fuel you.”</p><p>She had to be honest—she thought this was great advice. She was expecting the girls to perk up. Instead, their faces drooped even further.</p><p>“What, did I say something wrong?” </p><p>Sulli and Rose exchanged sad looks before Sulli spoke. “Well, I think we both dream about going to Stanford. It’s where Principal Sundhage was, and she’s really the only person in this town to ever have gone anywhere really big and exciting, you know? So Stanford feels kind of real for us.”</p><p>“But…” Rose chimed in, resting her chin in her hands, shoulders sagging, “it’s not really realistic.”</p><p>“Why not? With your grades—”</p><p>“It’s not about the grades,” Sulli said slowly, almost embarrassedly. “It’s the money.”</p><p><em>Oh</em>.</p><p>
  <em>Oh, of course. I’m such an idiot. </em>
</p><p>“My parents want me to go to college, of course, but it’ll probably be Oregon State. Maybe University of Oregon, if I get a really high score on the SAT that would qualify me for more scholarships,” Sulli explained, as Rose nodded along. “My dad’s a pipe fitter at the industrial plant north of here. Your dad works there too, right, Rose?”</p><p>“Yeah, he’s a welder, and my mom does some bookkeeping for the hospital.”</p><p>“They’re good jobs,” Sulli was quick to add, guilt spreading over her face. “I mean, we’re provided for. And our parents work really hard…”</p><p>“But it’s not enough for tuition anywhere like Stanford,” Rose finished the thought. “Nobody in this town can afford anything close to that. Well, maybe the Morgan’s.”</p><p>“I mean, the airfare back and forth from California, alone…”</p><p>“Yeah, I’d probably just not come back for four years just to save on transportation…”</p><p>Christen watched in silent anguish as the two girls fell into a discussion of college costs. Of course she’d been too sheltered and stupid to realize that this was a problem that her students faced. Once again, for the millionth time, she realized what a bubble she’d grown up in. She wished she had a way to whisk out her checkbook and give these girls, and all the other students, full payment for their college tuition right now.</p><p>In the past, she could’ve done it. But she didn’t have enough now.</p><p><em>Maybe enough for these two?</em> Her brain whirred into overdrive as she pondered if there was a way to anonymously gift Sulli and Rose two hundred thousand dollars each. It would pretty much wipe out everything she’d managed to squirrel away, but still, she could do it.</p><p>Pulling herself out of her daze, she assigned them another 25-minute practice test. As the clock ticked in the silent room, she rose and wandered over to her desk so they wouldn’t look up and see the torment on her face.</p><p><em>That scholarship fund,</em> she recalled, with a pang so deep her bones ached. Pia had been so excited about the idea of starting a scholarship fund for students to attend California colleges. She must have been thinking of her old students back in Barberry Stone, students just like Sulli and Rose. Back then, Christen hadn’t tried very hard to push the idea for the philanthropy. Her dad had said no, and she had instantly caved. How she regretted that. And of course, she couldn’t do anything about it now.</p><p>
  <em>If I had just a quarter of the influence I used to, I could do something about this injustice. Even a tenth. Even a single percent.</em>
</p><p>All at once, she remembered something her dad used to say to her: <em>One day, you’ll hold the world in the palm of your hand.</em></p><p>Just a few weeks ago, Christen had yearned to escape her past forever. Looking into Tobin’s shining brown eyes and dreaming of their future together, she had felt an overwhelming urge for Christen Press to vanish under the waves without a trace, and re-emerge as Kristen Channing, a totally different person, someone who would be innocent and carefree and invisible.</p><p><em>But powerless</em>, Christen was suddenly reminded. She felt her hands balling up into fists. <em>But helpless, for herself and others</em>. <em>And is that who I want to be? Someone with empty hands—someone who has nothing—someone who is no one?</em></p><hr/><p>
  <strong>Something was definitely wrong. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen was home for Christmas break, during her senior year of college. For four years, things at home had pretty much felt the same every time she was back. Her mother looked drawn and weary, Mal’s personality was sour and withdrawn, and her dad—well, he always seemed to be the only thing that stayed the same. Jovial and attentive, hanging onto Christen’s every word.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>And that was the strange thing. Now, even he seemed a little off. They were sitting around the dining table as usual, and he was glowering and snappish, barely saying a word. Christen stared, befuddled, from her angry dad to her pained-looking mother to her slouching little sister, and suddenly found herself wishing for the peaceful solitude of her college apartment. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>As an unfortunately side effect of growing up in such a formal family, nobody left the table, and not one of the five courses was cut short. And so the painful silence crawled on towards dessert time, when Tara and Mal got up to grab the assortment of pies and little cakes from the sideboard. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>As Christen sat there, twisting her napkin in her lap and mentally fumbling for something, <em>anything</em>, to say, something crashed to the floor behind her. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>She whirled around. Tara and Mal were standing a few feet from each other, arms still outstretched mid-reach.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>The silver platter of cakes was smashed on the floor between them. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Mal!” Richard thundered, exploding to his feet, his face suddenly livid. “What the hell is wrong with you, can you not do a single thing properly for once in your life?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen sat in frozen shock. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Tara’s hands were fluttering, her voice wavering, as she pled, “No, Richard, it was my fault. My hands…for a second, I couldn’t see—my hands were shaking, I think I dropped it—”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen had been sitting with her back to them, so she hadn’t seen. She didn’t know if her mother was just lying to cover for Mal. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>The sound of her mother’s anguish finally cleared Christen’s mind. <em>What the fuck is going on tonight? Dad needs to calm down.</em> <em>This is so unlike him—that insult was totally uncalled for. </em>“Daddy, stop, it’s not a big deal,” she heard herself saying. At her words, Mal’s eyes widened, and her back seemed to straighten a little, almost imperceptibly. “It was just an accident. Right, Mallory? I’ll call someone in to clean it.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“No, no, I will,” Tara offered, already scurrying off, one hand still held to her forehead as if it was in pain. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>With barely a glance behind him, Richard threw his cloth napkin down on the table and stormed out of the room, muttering under his breath. Christen had half a mind to chase him down and scold him, but instead, she knelt on the ground beside Mal, gathering up the bits of sponge cake and icing. “Hey, it wasn’t your fault, okay?” she said softly. “Daddy shouldn’t have reacted like that. I’m sure he’s just stressed. I can ask him to apologize later.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Mal didn’t respond, but her bottom lip was starting to quiver.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Mallory? Hey, don’t cry. Is something wrong?” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>With a suddenness and force that almost sent Christen toppling backwards, Mal grabbed onto Christen’s wrist. “Can you…can you just come home more often? Please?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“I graduate in May and I’ll be back for good before you know it,” Christen said, trying to make her voice as low and soothing as possible, like she was speaking to an injured wild animal. “Mal. Seriously, is something wrong? What’s up with Mom and Dad?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Mal bit her lip, as if debating how much to say. “You should talk to Mom,” she finally said. “I don’t know, she’s been complaining of headaches a lot recently. She spends more and more time in bed. I told her to go to see a doctor, but she says she went a few months ago…”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Okay, I’ll talk to her,” Christen promised, “and I’ll talk to Daddy too.”  </strong>
</p><hr/><p>
  <strong>Tara was much easier to catch alone than Richard was. Christen managed to find her the next day, reading in the study as usual, and she cut straight to the chase.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Christen, honey, you both don’t need to worry about me,” Tara said wearily, after Christen finished laying out Mal’s concerns. “I already told Mal, I saw Dr. Perez a little while ago, and she said it was just fatigue.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen’s critical eye drifted from her mother’s pale, gaunt face to her shaking hands. “How long is a little while?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Maybe…six months? Seven?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Mom, call Dr. Perez again.” Maybe Mal didn’t have the authority in this household to boss her mother around, but it was implicitly understood that Christen did. “She can come here to the house, and it’s not like we can’t afford it. It can’t hurt to check again. If you don’t call by the end of the week, I will.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Honey, all right, all right,” Tara said, managing to crack a weak smile. “I appreciate you caring so much. Let’s just get through this week—it’s Christmas soon, after all—and then we can deal with this, okay? I’m absolutely sure it’s nothing, but if you and Mal insist, I’ll call.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Satisfied, Christen took a seat on the familiar plush carpet, her back against the wall. The heat from the fireplace lit the side of her face, all warm and cozy. “I’m so glad I’m done with finals,” she murmured, almost falling asleep right then and there. “I think I did well, but it was killer trying to study between all these business meetings. We’re just finalizing the kid’s device prototype. I think we’re going to call them Press Play—clever, no? But my god, these meetings…they’re interminable…and the decisions we have to make…”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“You know, honey, this doesn’t have to be your life.” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen’s eyes flickered upwards. Her mother was looking down at her with eyes suddenly sharp and worried, studying her closely.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“What do you mean, Mom?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“I’m saying…” Tara’s voice dropped low. Even though Richard wasn’t in the room—wasn’t even in the <em>house</em>—it was like his presence pervaded the space, forcing them to speak softly. “Though you’re so gifted, so smart, baby, you can take this life at your own pace. You’ve only got one life, and it should be <em>yours</em>.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen fidgeted. The wall she was leaning against, so comfortable just a moment ago, suddenly felt itchy. For some reason, she felt uncomfortable even having this conversation, as if even contemplating a life that was “hers” was a betrayal to her father. “I still don’t get what you mean, Mom.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Tara leaned back in the armchair, her gaze distant and wistful. She seemed to be in a reminiscent mood that night. “You know, I grew up in a tiny little town, in the Midwest. We grew our own apples on trees in the backyard, and baked apple pies in the fall. I used to pick wildflowers in the field and bring them in bunches to my mother every day in the summer. We’d make flower crowns, at the kitchen table.” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>The descriptions sounded so foreign to Christen, who’d grown up in a crystal castle of velvet, of tutors, of private jets, of <em>pressure</em>, endless, all-consuming pressure. “That sounds nice, Mom.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“I’m just saying, you could do that.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen shook her head, still confused. “Do you miss it? Mom, we could buy you a summer house. Maybe a lake house, in Northern California.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Not for me, Christen, honey, for <em>you</em>.” Tara looked oddly distraught. Her fingers fluttered frantically around the hem of her sweater.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen’s brow furrowed. She rose and knelt by her mother’s armchair, covering her mother’s fingers with hers. The back of her mother’s hands were soft and veiny; the skin felt frail and paper-thin. Christen was startled. <em>When did she grow older?</em> “Mom, I wouldn’t have time to pick flowers and bake pies anyway, even if I moved into a cute little house in a tiny town.” she said, pushing away the sudden rush of emotion flooding her lungs, trying to keep her voice light and cheerful. “I’m happy where I am.” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Her mother’s fingers intertwined with hers, and gripped with a surprising ferocity. Her eyes bored into Christen’s. “Christen, if you can promise me that…if you can promise me you’re happy…if you promise me you…feel good about what’s happening…”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“I’m happy, Mom,” Christen said soothingly, although her mother’s distress was feeding into her emotions, filling her with unease. <em>At least, I think so. I’ve never felt unhappy. I’m lucky. I’m too lucky to be unhappy…right?</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Okay,” Tara finally relented, dropping her tight grip on Christen’s hand. “Okay…if you say so, honey.” She yawned, rising to her feet. “I think I’m going to turn in for the night.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen glanced at the wall clock and tried not to let the panic on her face show. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>It was only 7 PM.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Do me a favor, will you, honey?” Tara paused at the door, looked over her shoulder to where Christen was still crouching by the armchair. “Spend some time with Mal tonight.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>On past visits home, Christen would’ve pouted and protested that Mal didn’t want anything to do with her. But there was a shift in the house, now, a strange, eerie wind pervading the rooms that Christen couldn’t quite put a finger on. She felt a need to shelter Mal from whatever this wind would bring.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>And so she found herself wandering the halls, looking for Mal. As she searched, she planned out what she would talk to Mal about. Something innocuous, not too personal, so Mal wouldn’t get spooked and run off. But where was she? She wasn’t in her room, or in the study, or down at the pool, or in the gym. But there was no way she could’ve left the grounds. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Almost an hour later, almost at her wits end, Christen found herself in a narrow corridor near the kitchens and laundry room, in an area of the house she never visited. She followed the sound of merry laughter down the dark hallway. When she turned the corner, she saw Mal perched on one of the stools in the enormous kitchen, eating pie with a fork straight out of the pie plate. There were two of the younger female maids standing near her, washrags in hand, and they were telling some story that made Mal throw back her head and laugh merrily. Laugh like Christen had never seen before. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen was standing frozen in the dark doorway when one of the maids glanced over, saw her, and quite literally leapt in fright. “Ay dios mio!” she gasped, and as Mal turned and flinched, too, the cooks scurried away out of sight, like critters on a dark driveway after a flashlight is shone at them. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Mal half-slid off the stool, too, almost as if she had half a mind to run away as well. But as Christen approached slowly, Mal boosted herself back up, not quite meeting her sister’s eye.  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“What are you doing down here?” Christen asked. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Just wanted some pie,” Mal said defensively, even while she pushed the plate away from her.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen glanced at the dark doorway through which the maids had escaped. “What was up with that? Are they scared of me?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Mal fidgeted. “I don’t know. It wouldn’t be crazy, right?” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“I’ve never been anything but polite to the staff!”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“They’re scared of Dad,” Mal shrugged. “And you’re kind of like him. I guess that’s it.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen picked up a clean fork and poked at the pie herself. It was some kind of berry. She tried it—not too bad. “Well, Dad was a little awful yesterday, so maybe I don’t blame them,” she shrugged. “But I actually came here to talk to you.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Mal’s eyes grew a little wider. “Did I do something wrong?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“No, no,” Christen said hastily, though it registered to her, dim and far-off but a little heart-breaking, that this was Mal’s first response. To ease Mal’s mind as quickly as possible, Christen rummaged in her pocket for the Press Play prototype and held it out. “I was hoping you could help me with something for work.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>The prototype glimmered, metal and glass, under the bright lights. A peace offering.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Still guarded, Mal reached out a tentative finger to brush the edge of it. “Help with work? What could I help with?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“This is a new device we’re working on,” Christen explained, fully lifting herself up onto the stool next to Mal. “It’s targeted for kids your age. Here, take it.” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Slowly—almost reverently—Mal reached out and took the device in her hands, still small and round. Her face was starting to slowly light up with hope. As she turned it over and over in her fingers, inspecting every inch, Christen explained that they were looking to perfect the placement of the controls on the device, and that the businesspeople were divided on the current layout. There was a lot for Mal to weigh in on, Christen began to realize as she talked. It’s not like any of the businesspeople was an expert on how kids played video games, any more than Mal was. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>And so she asked. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“My personal suggestion was that we should move this button here on the side a little further down, like this. So you could press it with your middle finger instead of your pointer finger. I feel like there’s a little too much going on at the top of the device. What do you think, does that feel natural?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>And, “How about these arrows here; should we switch them out for a joystick?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>And, “What about the screen size? Do we want it to hit the edges of the device, or do you like the bevel the way it is right now?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>As the hour wore on, a slow smile started to spread across Mal’s face. Pie utterly forgotten, she pivoted entirely towards Christen, answering her questions, excitement gleaming in her wide brown eyes. Had Mal ever looked so vibrant? Christen was shocked to see some of her own mannerisms in Mal—the way she waved her hands emphatically, the way she tipped her head back and kind of to the side when she laughed. Her answers were nuanced and mature, and she seemed to have an effortless way to describing and selling an idea, even more so than Christen herself did. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>She’s thirteen</em>
  </strong>
  <strong>, Christen realized, <em>Perhaps it’s a little too young, still—but by the time I was thirteen, I was totally immersed in meetings and decision-making for the company. Maybe it’s time to start easing her in, if she wants to. After all, even if Daddy’s often upset about her grades, grades aren’t everything. She seems to be a natural at this. And she’s his heir, too. </em></strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>The clock struck midnight, interrupting their conversation and jolting both of them out of a reverie. “God, I hadn’t realized it’d gotten so late,” Christen marveled, hopping up from her chair. “Mom would kill me if she knew I’d kept you up until midnight. Listen, these ideas were seriously great. I’ll bring them to Dad, and I’ll tell him that they came from you.” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Mal lit up, and she nodded eagerly. “This was really fun, Christen, thanks for thinking of asking me,” she said, and she sounded happy, but there was a pleading edge to her voice, almost desperate. “Anytime you need more help, I’m here, okay?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Okay, I’ll remember that,” Christen promised, feeling suddenly closer to her sister than she’d felt in years—perhaps ever. And while she didn’t want to make any premature promises to Mal, as she watched her practically skip out of the kitchen, she made a mental note to talk to Dad about getting her involved. <em>All he has to do is give her a shot. Just an early chance to start sitting in on meetings, or shadowing a board member. He wouldn’t say no. Mal is his daughter.</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>But how wrong she was.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“No, absolutely not,” Richard said brusquely, not even looking up from his laptop screen as Christen made her case for Mal the following week.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Dad!” Christen protested, “It’s something to consider. I was really impressed by her. I think she could have a lot to contribute.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“She’s not like you, princess. She’s not capable.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“She’s inexperienced, sure, but promising. We could have her start by shadowing certain board members—don’t you think that she and Lacey Driscoll would hit it off really well? And R&amp;D with Bobby De Witt would be a good training ground—”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“No.” Richard gave Christen a stern, almost angry look over the top of his glasses. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>She felt a swelling of righteous indignation in her chest. Mal, little Mal, overlooked all these years by their dad. In the past, Christen had taken her dad’s word for it that Mal was unqualified. But now, she wasn’t so sure. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>Has Mal been stonewalled from participating at the company for years now, with absolutely no good reason? </em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Daddy…” she tried another tack, putting on her best kicked-puppy expression, “come on. I thought you trusted my judgment. Don’t you think I have the ability to make a good call about this decision?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>At this, Richard sighed. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes wearily. “Chrissy, honey, of course I trust your business acumen. But I think that in this case, you haven’t learned what I’ve learned over the years—you haven’t learned to make dispassionate, objective decisions unclouded by your own biases. I love Mal, of course, she’s a Press, after all. But she can’t cut it in this industry. She’s weak, she’s lazy.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“She hasn’t got the best grades, it’s true…” Christen hedged. “But I think she’s got street smarts, Dad. <em>And</em>…” she had saved her best argument for last, appealing to what she knew he cared about most of all, “that could be a really good business decision. Having someone around who doesn’t think quite like the rest of us. Showing the board that you have two daughters who contribute different strengths to the company.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Finally, Richard cracked a ghost of a smile. “You’re persistent, aren’t you, Chrissy?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>She grinned. “I get that from you.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Indeed you do. All right—I’ll consider getting Mal more involved. Maybe you’re right that we can start her in with Lacey or Bobby.” Richard scoffed a little under his breath, as he turned back to his work, “They’re a little soft, just like she is.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Okay,” Christen beamed, pleased with the outcome. “I think you won’t regret it, Daddy.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>She paused, wondering if she should broach the other topic she came into his office to discuss. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>Why not? Two birds with one stone. He’s already said yes to one thing, why not another?</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Also…” she started in again, and Richard looked up at her wearily. She almost faltered, but then realized—I am quite literally the only person in the universe who can tell him the real truth. If I don’t do this, who will? “Daddy, is something going on? With you and Mom, or Mal? At dinner last week, when Mal dropped the tray…I just didn’t like the way you talked to her.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Richard sat frozen, as if in shock that anyone—even Christen—would dare call him out on something like this. For a moment, Christen wondered if he was going to get up and walk out. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>But instead, his face crumbled, and he slumped down in his seat. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Honey, you’re right. I know, it was unkind. I promise I’ll apologize. It’s been so hard recently.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>At Richard’s repentant words and the despairing look on his face, Christen’s heart melted. She reached across the table to grab his hand. “Dad, what’s wrong? What’s been going on?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“We’ve all been under a lot of stress,” Richard admitted. Now that she was getting a close-up look at him, as well, Christen realized that he looked a little more aged too, with fine lines around his eyes and mouth that had seemingly cropped up in the night. “I’m worried about your mother. She hasn’t been well, and she’s been refusing to call a doctor. Sometimes I think Mal doesn’t help out Tara enough, and gives her attitude sometimes, and I come down hard on Mal because I’m worried about Tara’s health—maybe harder than I should.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen squeezed her dad’s hand in sympathy. “I’m so sorry, Dad. I completely understand. I can talk to Mal about being less of a burden. And I talked to Mom last week. She promised she’d see Dr. Perez again.”</strong>
</p><p><strong>“Excellent,” Richard said, with a sad smile. “You know, it feels good to finally be able to talk to you about these things, Princess. You’re an adult now. And this will all be yours one day.</strong> <strong>Taking care of Mallory, and your mother, will be your responsibility as well as mine, and I’m proud to see you stepping up to the challenge so well.”</strong></p><p>
  <strong>At his words, Christen felt her back straightening with pride. “Of course, Daddy,” she said. “I’m a Press. I’m your daughter. And I’ll always put this family before everything.”</strong>
</p><hr/><p>As January dragged on and on, Christen’s days took on a steady, gray routine:</p><p>She woke up in the pitch-black morning, cursing Oregon winters, cursing poorly insulated little houses, cursing high school start times.</p><p>Some days she did yoga, but other days she just bundled herself miserably on the couch with a cup of coffee.</p><p>At school, she taught Spanish and SAT prep to her sweet, bright-eyed, wonderful students, all the while fantasizing about ways to secretly pay for college for every single one of them.</p><p>It was after school, those interminable, blue-tinged afternoons, that got rough. She’d gotten into the habit of swinging by Pinoe’s vintage store downtown, or Ashlyn’s shop. But some days they were busy, and she’d drive home.</p><p>And that’s where her demons would get her.</p><p>Some days, she’d listen to Tobin’s Christmas message on repeat, until she grew ashamed of herself and began scolding herself aloud for being so pathetic, so dependent. “It’s not like you’re even dating; stop acting like a fucking war widow!” She snapped aloud to herself once, throwing her phone across the couch so hard it bounced off the cushion and onto the rug. Tobin hadn’t been in touch much—just one group text in early January, announcing that the wildfires were growing worse and she might be kept longer than expected. (Christen tried to shove aside the sudden image in her mind of Tobin falling in love with California, falling in love with a girl in California, and staying in California forever.)</p><p>And other days—most days—okay, <em>fine</em>, every day—she kept track of Mal. It wasn’t a hard task, as the girl was literally everywhere. She tweeted multiple times a day as she hopped from country to country, meeting to meeting. She graced the covers of magazines. She appeared on late night talk shows. Christen was a little in awe, honestly, at the ease with which Mal had catapulted from their prior state of hushed non-existence to the life of a bona fide celebrity. Christen felt like she read every tweet and magazine article ten times, watched every appearance thirty times. Zooming in on Mal’s face, wondering: <em>How are you doing, baby girl? Are you hurting, are you scared? Or are you living the dream?</em> She hoped, fervently and with all her soul, that it was the latter.</p><p>
  <em>Maybe she’s fine. Maybe it’s all going to be fine. Maybe even I’m going to be fine. </em>
</p><p>But on only the darkest days—only in the dead of night, when dread grew in Christen so strong her fingers shook, or when nightmares drove her screaming from her bedroom—Christen would retrieve a few tattered scraps of paper tucked inside one of her books, and sit down in front of her computer, and search.</p><p>Search for combinations of initials, blurred and indecipherable. Combinations of keywords and headlines, in Spanish and English.</p><p>Search for the key to the way out. The light at the end of the tunnel. The secret path to her own redemption.</p><hr/><p>
  <strong>It started, as all life-shattering days tend to do, as a rather unremarkable day. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>It started as an unusually cold January day, on which Christen was finalizing her spring semester schedule. “The last time I’m ever going to pick classes!” she mourned to Pia from her permanent perch on the end of her couch.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Pia chuckled. “Don’t rule out graduate school, honey.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen shook her head. “Are you kidding? My dad is so impatient for me to graduate and start working, he tried to get me to take all my classes this semester as experiential credits for an ‘internship’ with his company. I didn’t agree, of course. How could I say no to your advanced supply chain seminar?” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Pia grinned. “It’s going to be a great class, I can already tell. Did you notice that Vero and Meghan in it? I’ll get you girls to be friends yet.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen just rolled her eyes and changed the subject. “I’ll come back and visit you at Stanford, though, after I finally join the company leadership. Maybe I can even be a guest lecturer for some of your classes! I’ll tell them all the generic things former students say: how I was sitting right where they are, how they have it easier than I did, how you totally changed my life for the better.” In her mind, she could picture it already—Pia finally knowing who she was, along with the rest of the world. Pia announcing her to a lecture hall full of awestruck students not as Kristen Tyler, but as <em>Christen Press, Chief Operating Officer of Press Electronics and second-in-command to CEO Richard Press</em>. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Pia chuckled, but her eyes were sad. “Actually, this is my last year teaching at Stanford.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen shot upright on the couch. “Pia, what?!”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“I’m returning to Barberry Stone. I’ve been away from my hometown long enough. It’s time to get back to my roots.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen tried to keep her expression neutral, but she knew it was growing sour and skeptical. “You’re a prominent professor at Stanford Business School, but you’re going back to be the principal of a tiny high school in the middle of nowhere, for a bunch of rural kids?” She could barely keep the scoffing tone out of her voice. “You sound like my mother.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Well,” Pia said with a grin, Christen’s scorn clearly not affecting her even a bit, “your mother sounds very wise.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“It’ll be hard for me to visit you up there,” Christen protested. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“You’re a resourceful girl, you’ll find a way.” Pia seemed unconcerned. “Actually, when you do visit, there will be people there I would love for you to meet. There’s one girl in particular—her name is—”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Okay, okay,” Christen interrupted good-naturedly. <em>Please, Pia, for the love of god, stop trying to play friend-matchmaker. If I don’t have friends in my life now, I’m certainly not going to have friends in my life when I start working</em>. “We’ll burn that bridge when we get there. For now, I’m just trying to decide whether to keep advanced Spanish on my schedule. I’m already at 22 credits—maybe I should cut it, focus on getting straight A’s in the other classes so I maintain my 4.0.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Pia paused. Her hands stilled on the keyboard, and after a long moment, she pivoted to face Christen. “You know, you could drop the class and study Spanish on your own time. There’s a repository of newspaper clippings from South American papers on the library website here. It’s a fascinating resource. They’ve got most of the countries’ major papers, but also some pretty niche publications as well. And all in Spanish. It would be a great way for you to brush up on your Spanish, and even differentiate between the usages in different countries.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Hm…” Christen mused, penciling in a reminder to herself in the margin of her leather-bound planner. Honestly, that wasn’t a bad idea at all. On the long nights in her apartment when her work was done and no rom-coms sounded particularly appealing, it could be fun to search for mentions of Press Electronics—see how they were being covered in South American media, if at all. “Thanks, Pia. That’s a really cool idea.” <em>Weirdly specific, but cool</em>. “I’ll look into it.” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>In fact, it was such a cool idea that she looked into it that very evening. Finding herself with a free window, she picked up an oat milk latte from her favorite café down the street—her favorite drink on drizzly gray days like this—and settled down at her kitchen table, cozy and cheerful. The database was tiny and obscure, hidden in a forlorn corner of the library website, but she found it.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Dozens of Spanish language articles came up in her search for “Press Electronics.” Humming to herself, she opened all of them until her browser was covered in tiny tabs and began scrolling through.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Press Electronics’ new Vx7 release changes the landscape of Mexican phone usage”—excellent, great coverage. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Press Electronics’ Sao Paolo headquarters brings revitalization, hundreds of new jobs”—Christen smiled and took a sip of her latte, remembering that office opening. She hadn’t been able to appear at any of the festivities, of course, but she’d live-streamed her dad’s speech online.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>On and on, until she reached the end of the queue, where there was one tab remaining. She clicked on it. It was a scan of a few faded newspaper articles—not from any of the major country papers, but what looked like a tiny regional publication. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>The text was grainy, and there were no photos. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen frowned. She read the headline. She zoomed in. She read the headline again. And again. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>A paralyzing sense of dread crept over her, engulfing her whole—as if she was suddenly taking a deep breath and was unable to stop, the gray air pumping inwards, inwards, inwards until her lungs burst. In the far recesses of her mind, a dark terror, nameless and faceless, begin to swirl.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>What is this? What the fuck is this?</em>
  </strong>
  <strong> She wanted to tear her eyes away from the screen, but as if controlled by another force in the room, they sped along, devouring the words line by line. <em>This can’t be right. There’s no way this is right. This—</em></strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>The phone rang, blaring and brash. Christen flinched so hard, the paper cup of coffee on the table tipped right over. She stared at the pool of beige liquid in a daze, staring but not seeing it as it flooded quickly across the glass surface, touched the laptop, seeped under it and all around it, dripped onto the floor. The phone rang on. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>It was a trickle of the hot liquid against her leg that finally roused her from her glazed-over stupor. Leaving the laptop sitting in the spilled coffee, she ran for her phone. It had to be either her father or mother, nobody else ever called her. <em>Great. I can get an answer right away. I can straighten this out, this horrific misunderstanding. </em></strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>—except it wasn’t either of them. It was Mal.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Mal, who had never once, in her entire life, called Christen. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Mallory? Mal? What’s wrong?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>From the other end of the line, the sound of sobbing.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>And suddenly Christen knew that whatever that sensation was she had felt a minute ago, had thought was rock bottom—it was not.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>This—whatever Mal was about to say—was going to be rock bottom.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Chrissy? It’s Mom,” Mal finally managed to croak out between heaving sobs. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen felt her heart stop, for one infinite second of total blackness. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Dr. Perez came today. It’s cancer, Mom has cancer. It’s—it sounds like it’s really bad, really serious.” Mal broke out into a fresh wave of crying. “Dr. Perez just came and talked to me and dad—she used the word ‘terminal’—Dad just, like, collapsed, I’ve never seen his face look like that, Chrissy, and I went over to try to help him up, but he wouldn’t let me help—” a sob tore through Mal’s throat, “and he just picked himself up and left the room, just walked right out. I’m so scared. I don’t know what to do.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>The infinite second passed, and Christen emerged from the other side of the blackness as a different girl than she had been a moment before.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Mal? Listen to me. You did the right thing by calling me.” Christen’s voice suddenly had a new severity, a new icy edge, that it never had before—and that it would always have, from that moment on, for years to come. “You go make sure Mom is all right. Okay? Stay with her and wait. Give Dad some time. I have to take care of a few things.” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>She hung up. She walked back to the kitchen table, picked her laptop up from the coffee puddle, shook it out. She checked the clock on the wall. Leaving the puddle, she picked up her phone again and called Gerald.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Gerald, pick me up in front of my apartment in exactly thirty minutes.” She had some more calls to make. Thirty minutes should be plenty. “We’ll be heading to campus, to the main business school building.” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Uh, sure, Miss Christen.” Gerald was right to sound surprised; in all four years at Stanford, even in the worst of weather, Christen had never once requested a ride to campus.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>In exactly half an hour, Christen climbed into the backseat of the car with a backpack. As they approached the building, she squinted up at the window of Pia’s office. The light was still on. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Wait here,” she commanded Gerald. “I’ll be out in ten minutes.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>He stared anxiously after her as her silhouette strode into the building, back ramrod-straight and pace brisk. Something was very wrong; something was off about Miss Christen tonight.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>And then it hit him—the severe voice, the haughty bearing. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>It’s like she’s become her father</em>
  </strong>
  <strong>. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>When Christen burst into Pia’s office without knocking, Pia looked up. At the thunderous look on Christen’s face, Pia’s smile immediately vanished. She half-rose from her chair as if to approach Christen, but then seemed to think better of it. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Instead of taking her usual seat on the couch, Christen remained standing near the door. From her jacket pocket, Christen withdrew the articles she had printed. Without a word, she unfolded them and dropped them onto the desk in front of Pia. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>The recognition on Pia’s surprised face told her all she needed to know. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“How long have you known who I am?” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Pia sat silent, resigned, her eyes pleading with Christen’s.  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“How long?” Christen demanded icily. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Pia finally responded. “I’ve had suspicions since your freshman year. The things you said about your family and your father—they don’t apply to very many people. And honey, you look quite like him.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Don’t call me honey.” Christen’s voice was venom, set aflame.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Christen—”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“You sent me to this database today knowing that I’d find this shit, right? These lies about my father.” Christen picked up the articles again, skimming the headlines that had sent her into an emotional tailspin half an hour ago.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Just half an hour. It felt like days had passed already. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen took a deep breath as she picked out some of the most horrifying snippets. “Richard Press conspires with authoritarian governments and militia groups? He knowingly supports concentration camps? <em>He enslaves children</em>?!”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Pia’s voice was low and sad, but steady. “Christen, I thought it was time. Time for you to know that these reports are out there.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Reports?! These are <em>lies</em>,” Christen spat. She crumpled the papers in her hand into a tight wad. “And therefore, I’ve already had the entire database shut down. Nobody will ever get to read these articles again.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Pia’s eyes rounded. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“You didn’t think I had that kind of power? Guess again. I do. <em>I’m Christen Press</em>.” Christen proclaimed her real name proudly, spitefully. “And you should feel lucky that I’ve decided I’m not going to tell my father about this. Consider it one last courtesy to a past friendship.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Christen…” For the first time, Pia’s voice faltered. “<em>Past</em> friendship? Come now…”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“My family is everything to me. They are the only important thing.” Christen said, in her new, strange voice. “So tell me: who wrote these articles?” No name was listed, only initials, and in the scan, they looked water-stained and barely legible. An I, or an L? Maybe an O? It was impossible to say for sure.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“I truly don’t know, Christen. Whoever they are, they published anonymously, no doubt for fear of retribution,” Pia said sadly. “And even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Why not?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Would you hurt them?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen didn’t hesitate. “I would end them.” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“No,” Pia blanched. “No, honey, that’s not you—”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“You have no idea who I am. And <em>don’t call me honey</em>.” Christen turned to go. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>She was almost to the door when Pia called out for her. “Please, Christen. Maybe I approached this incorrectly, and that’s my fault.” She looked as if her heart was breaking. “But we must talk this through, like we always have. Take a few days, but come back to see me. After our seminar on Thursday?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Christen lifted her chin contemptuously. “I’ve dropped your seminar. In fact, I’ve dropped all my courses. I’m finishing the semester remotely, at my family’s side. Don’t ever let me see or hear from you again.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>And then she was gone, slamming the door behind her. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>As she climbed into the backseat of Gerald’s car, he glanced back at her with some trepidation. “Back to the apartment, Miss Christen?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“No,” Christen said tersely, looking away, out the window. “Take me to the airfield; I’ve scheduled a flight home. And arrange for everything in the apartment to be disposed of. Dump it, sell it, hell, burn it—it doesn’t matter. I won’t be coming back.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>The car sped away from the building and into the darkness. And at a high window, Pia’s lone figure stood with a hand pressed to the glass, watching it go. </strong>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Whew. Y’all, I have never been so happy to get a chapter off my hands. </p><p>I was really torn about posting this. I usually mull over finished chapters for a lot longer before posting, and wouldn’t publish something that I wasn’t a little more certain of. Narratively, it’s a super important chapter—maybe the most important chapter in the fic—and I really wanted to do it justice, </p><p>On the other hand, it’s super dark. Like it really just goes from darkness to darkness. It’s been a bit torturous to work on it, especially with everything going on in the real world. So even though my writer brain wants to keep tweaking…I just had to stop thinking about these things and writing about these things. I just really want (and need) get to the happiness, you know? In real life, and in fic life. </p><p>So I hope you all enjoy this, but I hope you all read with care. As a heads up, this chapter deals with a couple of off-screen deaths, homophobia, and general trauma/depression. Take lots of breaks if you have to (I certainly did). </p><p>Also, as a heads up, there’s no Tobin in this chapter. I considered doing the back-and-forth flashbacks as I have in the past, but I thought the material in this chapter was too important to keep cutting away. </p><p>And finally, thank you all for the comments &lt;3 &lt;3 &lt;3 I would go back and read them all when I was especially sad about writing, and they always cheered me up and kept me going! I’m so grateful for each and every one of you, out there, reading this. </p><p>Love,<br/>Casson</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Christen’s new goal was to be the perfect daughter.</p><p>It was foolish—selfish, even—to have stayed away so long at college. After all, her place was by her family’s side. She tossed her textbooks and notebooks into a box and stuffed it in the corner of her enormous walk-in closet. (She thought about burning it all, but then she’d have to explain the mess to her parents.)</p><p>By day, Christen’s life was 100% business. She ruled the boardroom by her father’s side, training under his tutelage, organizing her troops.</p><p>She caught herself, at times, studying her father’s face. It seemed like he, like her, had grown harrowed and gaunt since the news of Tara’s cancer. He had always been intense, ambitious, but there was now a frenetic gleam in his eye that scared even Christen, sometimes. His voice took on a snarling undertone in meetings, when speaking to his employees, that she had never heard before. But alone at home, it seemed like he had a more difficult time holding himself together. His back slumped, and sometimes Christen suspected that she saw tears wobbling in his eyes.</p><p><em>He’s hurting</em>, Christen thought. <em>He’s a good man.</em> <em>The best husband. The best father.</em> And the thought of those lies that Pia had tried to plant in her mind lit a passionate, wild anger in her, burning so close to hatred some nights that it terrified her.</p><p>Richard asked her if she still wanted to make the grand international announcement of her existence to the world, but after some deliberation, they decided against it. <em>Not while Mom is</em>…Christen couldn’t even bring herself to finish the thought.</p><p>“When things calm down,” Richard suggested, strong and comforting.</p><p>“When things calm down,” Christen echoed, relieved.</p><p>By night, Christen took care of her mother. By the time she arrived home from work, Tara would be in bed already, drifting off to sleep, but they always managed to spend a few slow minutes together with Richard and Mal—reading from a book, or listening to some music. Christen often fell asleep by her mother’s bedside, and she got used to sleeping with the beep of the heart rate monitor in the background. The sound penetrated the scattered nightmares she started experiencing. She had never had nightmares consistently before.</p><p>And when she had a spare moment, she looked after Mal. Mal, who, too, seemed to have aged overnight. After Christen’s lobbying to their dad, Mal had finally started meeting, sporadically, with a few members of the board. Christen paired her first with Lacey Wiltshire and Bobby Chen, two of her favorite board members. They had a softer streak, she thought, that would work well with Mal. And Mal seemed to be thriving. Christen even made some time to attend her soccer games, sitting far up in the bleachers away from everyone else, with a baseball cap pulled low over her face.</p><p>She sat there on the bleachers under the California sun and thought about how, in a couple years—maybe a year—maybe just months—Mom would be gone, and Dad would be busy as usual, and there would be nobody to go to these soccer games but her.</p><p>And she would fight, sitting there, not to burst into tears. There was no time for tears, not anymore. She was an adult now, 21, almost a college graduate. She had to act like one. For herself, for Mal. For the Press family.</p>
<hr/><p>In those early days, it just seemed like adulthood was a torturous and compulsory train ride from disaster to disaster.</p><p>And one of the disasters hit her right in the gut, one night when she was least expecting it.</p><p><em>It was my fault</em>, she castigated herself for years to come, every time she thought of that night. <em>I should have planned it out better. I should’ve read the room. I should’ve been prepared</em>.</p><p>It started out so innocuously. She was sitting in her usual chair in Richard’s office, and they were going through an itinerary for an upcoming trip to Japan. Richard had been flying to Japan more and more frequently, since they were gearing up to launch their new Asia headquarters there. Christen was already brushing up on her rudimentary Japanese.</p><p>
  <em>Maybe I’ll spend months there. Years, even. But not right now, with Mom so sick. Maybe…after. </em>
</p><p>“Princess,” Richard said, dragging her from the brink of despair that she had just been teetering on. She gave him a grateful smile.</p><p>“Princess, I’ve been thinking, I want you to meet someone. Winston was telling me the other day about one of his graduate students.”</p><p>Christen barely kept from rolling her eyes at the mention of Winston Ashby, Press Electronics’ senior vice president of supply chain. He gave off these greasy, pompous vibes, and she always felt, weirdly, like he was checking her out. Richard and Winston seemed to get along great, though. So she bit back what she really wanted to say, and instead said, “For the fellowship program? We’d have to check with Lacey to see if one of those spots is still—”</p><p>“No, no,” Richard said. He placed his phone down, face-down, at the far corner of his desk. Christen felt her forehead furrowing in concern. That was usually a sign that he was about to jump into a serious conversation.</p><p>“Winston thinks…” Richard said carefully, “and I agree, that you might really get along with this student of his. His name is William Larson, and he’s Yale undergrad, Harvard MBA. His father is on the California supreme court.”</p><p>Christen sat confused for one more second, and then—“Oh.”</p><p>
  <em>Oh.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Oh, no. </em>
</p><p>“Daddy,” she cleared her throat nervously, tried to choke a laugh out. “That’s, uh. Hm. I mean, I’m only 21.”</p><p>In her mind she saw Cassie Alfonso, and Vero from Stanford, in all their sparkling glory, and she just couldn’t stomach the idea of going on a date with this dude, who she could just tell from the description was going to be a pompous, beige potato of a man.</p><p>Richard did that thing he always did with his hand when he thought a counterargument was stupid, as if he was batting a bug away from his face. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, clearly about to launch into a long explanation of why 21 is not too young to be married, or whatever.</p><p>And maybe that’s why—she didn’t know what possessed her to say this, and would not quite know, for years—she said, “Also, I know I wouldn’t be interested.”</p><p>Richard looked confused now. “Why? What have I told you about him that’s so displeasing? To me, the most important thing is, he sounds pliable. Supportive. You’ll need someone who’s willing to take a supporting role, the way your mother—”</p><p>“I mean,” Christen blurted out. “Maybe…maybe just…starting with the fact that it’s a <em>him</em>.”</p><p>“Oh,” Richard said. He paused. He looked shocked, utterly caught off guard, in a way that Christen had perhaps never seen before. She felt sweaty all over, as if she’d just woken up from a nightmare. She had an irrational urge to break into a fit of giggles, and also to cry and run out of the room, all at once.</p><p>“Oh, Chrissy, princess,” he finally said. He reached over the desk and took both her hands in both of his. The act was reassuring and loving, and all at once, Christen felt safe again. At home. <em>Of course. This is Daddy we’re talking about. We are each other’s favorite people in the world. Why was I worried for a second?</em></p><p>“Chrissy, princess, you know I love you no matter what, right?”</p><p>Christen started to smile, tremulously. “Daddy, thanks—"</p><p>“But you know as well as I do the world isn’t ready for this.”</p><p>Christen froze.</p><p>Richard’s hands were still holding hers, but suddenly they felt like pincers. Her fingers were trapped in an icy vice.</p><p>“The world is not as accepting as I am, princess. They don’t love you like I do. They’ll use this against you, they’ll come at you.” His fingers squeezed even tighter. It was so painful. “It can’t get out.”</p><p>“It can’t…get out?”</p><p>
  <em>Like it’s some dirty secret?</em>
</p><p>Her voice sounded like it was coming from far away. Her head hurt a little. And her jaw, it felt oddly tight. It was strange, how for a moment, she could feel an individual, sharp, awful ache in every atom of her head, every centimeter of her skull. There was a buzzing.</p><p>“No, it can’t. Trust me.” Richard’s voice was firm. He seemed to know what was best. He always did. <em>He’s always right. Right?</em></p><p>“But what—but what will I do?”</p><p>“You need to wait until society’s ready,” Richard said. He stood, towering over her. She cowered in the chair. There was still that ache. There was still that strange buzzing in her ears. “You know I love you, and I always will. But there are people out there—good people, you know, our business partners, who might have a point—who will think it’s too soon. Too much. Can’t you think of ways in which this might hurt us? <em>Think</em>, princess. Think about our new headquarters.”</p><p>Christen’s head throbbed. <em>The Japanese headquarters</em>. Maybe Richard was right. What would they think of her there?</p><p>Richard sat there for a moment, studying her, letting his telling of reality sink in slowly.</p><p>After a full minute of silence, he reached over and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “That’s my girl. I know you’ll do what’s best for Press Electronics. And remember, by extension, that’s what’s best for your mother and Mal. You won’t let them down, will you?”</p><p>“No,” Christen said. She sounded a little strangled, even to herself. “…you know I wouldn’t let them down.”</p><p>“One day, you’ll be able to do whatever you want to do,” Richard said, his tone mild, as if Christen had just told him, <em>you know, I think I’d like to buy a house</em>, or, <em>One day, I think I’ll write a novel</em>. “One day. Just not now. Is that clear?”</p><p>“Yeah, Daddy. Clear. Totally clear.”</p><p>Christen wasn’t sure when she stood up, but she found herself on her feet, moving in a fog towards the door.</p><p>She was just about to cross the threshold when he called out one more time.</p><p>“Princess. You’re absolutely sure?”</p><p>“Yes.” She fought down bile in her throat. Struggled to keep her voice from shaking. “Yes. Daddy, of course I’m sure.”</p><p>“Okay.” Richard paused, disappointed. “Just…checking.”</p><p>He looked like he was in physical pain. She closed the door behind her.</p><p>Christen wandered, in a haze, down the hallway. Without realizing, she passed the door to her own room and kept wandering. She wasn’t sure exactly where she was heading, not until she opened the door and found herself in her mother’s room.</p><p>She was sure her mother was sleeping already, so in the dim light from the crack in the door, she stepped softly to the bedside and just stood there. In the silence of the room, she realized her breathing was loud, ragged. She realized that her fingers, hanging by her side, were trembling. She gripped her hands into fists, trying to still the shakes.</p><p>Her mother made a little noise, a little move. Her eyes fluttered open and settled on Christen, standing there in the dark. “Christen? What’s wrong, honey?”</p><p>Christen went to answer, but only a strangled sob came out. “Mom…”</p><p>“Christen…” Tara whispered. She edged over a little on the bed, making some room. “Come here.”</p><p>Numb all over, Christen kicked her shoes off and she curled up on the bed beside her mother. She huddled there, a pathetic, shaking heap.</p><p>Without her having to say anything—with just a mother’s instinct—Tara seemed to know what had happened. She planted a soft kiss on the top of Christen’s head. “Oh, honey,” she said, in that soft, weary way that had gradually become her normal way of speaking. “How I love you. And you get to love who you love. Do you hear me?”</p><p>And Christen buried her face in her mother’s shoulder, and cried, and cried, and cried.</p><p>She wasn’t sure when she finally drifted off, to the low hum of machinery and her whispered comforting words, but when she woke up, it was morning. Sun filtered in through cracks in the heavy velvet curtains. Tara was fast asleep. Mal was sitting in an armchair by the door, on her phone.</p><p>“Hey,” Christen whispered, carefully crawling out of the bed and pulling the comforter back over her mom. “What are you doing here?”</p><p>It struck her, yet again, how mature Mal was looking these days. She was fourteen now. She looked even older than her age when she paused, and studied Christen, and said, “Want to take a walk?”</p><p>Numbly, Christen nodded. A glance at her phone screen told her that the price to pay for crying and falling asleep at 7 PM, instead of working past midnight as usual, was hundreds of unread emails. She turned the screen off and shoved it in her pocket. Even the sight of the emails made her stomach turn.</p><p>The two sisters wandered slowly together through the warm, misty California morning. The gardens behind the estate were beautifully landscaped around neat, straight walking paths. The edge of every hedge and bush was sharp and perfect. Not a single flower grew out of place. For a while, the only sound came from their footsteps on the white pebbles underfoot.</p><p>Finally, Mal spoke. “You okay?”</p><p>Christen winced. It wasn’t normal that Mal woke up to find Christen sleeping next to their mother, in her bed. In fact, this was probably the first time it had ever happened. “I’m totally fine, Mal. Why would you—”</p><p>“I heard you come upstairs last night,” Mal said. “I heard you crying and talking with Mom.”</p><p>Christen let out a long sigh. Well, it was probably better this way. One disastrous coming out to the whole family at once, instead of three individual disastrous coming outs. She wondered, vaguely, what would happen if she had to vomit behind a bush. The gardeners probably wouldn’t be too pleased. “Listen, Mal,” she said immediately, her father’s words echoing in her head, “I won’t do anything that will put the business in jeopardy.”</p><p>Mal let out a little scoffing noise. They wandered in silence for a few more paces, and then she said, suddenly, “Nobody should care more about the business than they do about <em>you</em>, Christen. Remember what I told you a long time ago? About how you’re the Giving Tree in that story, and Dad’s the little boy?”</p><p>Christen froze. Yes, she did remember. How angry she’d been when Mal had said that. It had been their last conversation before Christen left for Stanford, and they hadn’t spoken for months afterwards.</p><p>It had seemed so ludicrous at the time. Her father—Richard Press, her hero—taking advantage of her? Forcing her to give up things she wanted, things that were good for her, for him?</p><p>“Yes, I remember,” is all she said out loud to Mal. But guilt and uncertainty quickly overwhelmed her, like the sensation of being pushed underwater, and she quickly followed up, “I still don’t know if that’s right, Mal. Now that you’re getting more involved in the business, think about everything you’re learning. Isn’t this work amazing? Isn’t it fun? But at the same time, it’s hard. Daddy puts so much of himself into it. All he wants is for me to put the family first too. Why shouldn’t we do the same?”</p><p>Mal looked a little more hesitant now. “I guess, Chris. I mean, you’re right—it is amazing. I love it. But I think he’s asking you to give a lot more than he’s asking himself to give.”</p><p>“It’s not just for him, Mal,” Christen said firmly. “The sacrifices I need to make—what Daddy is asking of me—” A gloom seemed to fall over her again. <em>What exactly is Daddy asking of me? </em>“It’s not just for the company, or for him. It’s for Mom. It’s for <em>you</em>—”</p><p>“Nope,” Mal immediately cut her off, loud and steady.  “No, no, no. Nuh-uh. This is not about me or Mom. Don’t you dare make me the little boy to your giving tree. Or Mom either. Don’t let Dad tell you that.”</p><p>It was odd, how she and Mal were suddenly speaking like equals. Like real sisters, maybe for the first time ever.</p><p>“I’ll come out eventually,” Christen fought back feebly. “Daddy is right. The world won’t understand.”</p><p>Mal scoffed, kicked at a pebble. “Maybe Dad is the one who doesn’t understand, Chris.”</p>
<hr/><p>Christen graduated from Stanford. Valedictorian, just as she’d planned. At first, she was planning on skipping the graduation ceremonies entirely, even her own valedictorian speech at the business school ceremony. But Tara insisted.</p><p>“She has to go make that speech, Richard,” she pleaded from her bed one night, and Richard, eyes full and smile warm, kissed his wife’s knuckles and promised her that they’d do whatever she thought was best. Watching it, Christen’s heart almost broke.</p><p>
  <em>See? Daddy is good. He’s understanding. He’s just hurting, now that Mom’s so sick. It was my fault—I chose the wrong moment to come out. To add to his worries. </em>
</p><p>Christen and Mal exchanged glances, and Christen gave Mal a pointed look. Mal, for her part, looked a little hesitant and uncomfortable, but she did seem slightly convinced.</p><p>Nobody in their family could attend graduation—even if Tara was in any condition to travel, they wouldn’t risk being seen in public like that—so Christen traveled there alone, made her speech, and came back.</p><p>She glimpsed Pia briefly, on stage. Pia gave her a tremulous smile. Christen, nose in the air and eyes narrowed, ignored her. She made her speech, as Kristen Tyler. She ignored the pang in her heart when she passed all the girls she could have been friends with in another life—Vero and Jenni and Meghan—taking cute photos together in their robes. She got back into her chauffeured car, alone, and pulled away from Stanford forever.</p>
<hr/><p>The days blurred into weeks, then months.</p><p><em>I am doing just fine</em>, Christen told herself firmly every morning when she woke. She looked around her luxurious room. She swam in the pool downstairs. She presided over board meetings at her father’s side, with the world’s leading businesspeople salivating at her feet.</p><p>
  <em>I am doing just fine. How could I be doing otherwise? </em>
</p><p>It was an otherwise uneventful week in the spring—almost a year after her graduation—when her father asked her to stay behind at a board meeting.</p><p>She stayed, though she was really itching to get back to her mother’s bedside. Though Tara’s smile was as bright and encouraging as ever, her face looked a little hollower every day. She was in bed all the time now. All Christen wanted to do was change out of her tight pinstriped Hugo Boss suit into comfy sweats and fall asleep next to her mom.</p><p>“What is it, Dad?” She asked. She couldn’t help but feel a little disgruntled that of the few other board members remaining in the room, Winston Ashby was one of the ones there. Her initial discomfort around him had only increased after the incident where Richard had tried to set her up with one of his students.</p><p>
  <em>Weird, weird, weird. </em>
</p><p>She pushed the incident aside, for now, and gave him her politest smile.</p><p>“Listen, Christen.” Richard leaned forward on his elbows, steepled his fingers thoughtfully in front of him. “You know we’ve been having some supply chain issues in some of our factories?”</p><p>“Yes, I recall,” she replied, a little uncertain, but trying not to show it. She didn’t usually get too involved in the supply chain side of things.</p><p>Richard let out a long sigh. “Some of our manufacturers, well, they’re getting a little bold. Testing our boundaries. Trying to renegotiate contractual agreements we signed long ago. Long story short, we might have to push back the new phone release if we can’t get this ironed out.”</p><p>“Push it back? Again?” Christen felt her eyes grow sharp. But of course, in front of the board members, she couldn’t sound whiny. She cleared her throat. “The marketing team will throw a fit.” <em>As will I</em>.</p><p>“I know, I know, it’s not ideal.” Richard rubbed his temples. “Christen. You’ve always been willing to do anything for Press Electronics. That’s what I admire and appreciate so much about you. Since you were ten years old, you’ve been all in. There’s no one I trust more than you.”</p><p>Christen sat up a little straighter. Was it just her imagination, or had Winston Ashby looked slightly crestfallen at the words, <em>There’s no one I trust more than you?</em> Rumors always floated around, from time to time, of board members who chafed against the idea of the business getting handed down to Christen, instead of to one of them. She always suspected that Winston was in on these rumors, though he sucked up so obsequiously to Richard that it was hard to tell.</p><p><em>Hear that, Winston? Know your fucking place. I’m my dad’s heir</em>.</p><p>“Yes, thank you,” she said primly. “I am all in, Dad.”</p><p>“You always have been all in, and always will be.”</p><p>“Yes, of course.”</p><p>“Good.” Richard cleared his throat. The board members looked a little on edge.</p><p><em>What is this weird meeting?,</em> Christen wondered.</p><p>“Christen, there’s a business trip I’d like you to take.”</p><p>Christen felt her brow furrowing. She and Richard were excellent at keeping their personal lives entirely separate from their business personas as possible, but she knew that her dad could read her mind. <em>I don’t want to take any business trips while Mom is so sick.</em></p><p>“Where to?”</p><p>Richard passed a neat, glossy packet of papers across the table.</p><p>Christen looked down at it, flipped through the first couple pages with one manicured finger. “Really? Here?”</p><p>“You’re fluent in Spanish, Christen. No other board member is.”</p><p>“Well, yes.”</p><p>“You’re the next leader of this organization.”</p><p>Christen didn’t let the smug sense of victory appear on her face. She nodded once, trying to look serious and calm. “Yes, I am.”</p><p>“This could be the most important business trip you take for a while, Christen. I need you to talk these manufacturers down from truncating our contracts with them. The talks could be worth billions.” Richard lowered his voice to a conspiratorial, confidential mutter. “You know, some of the board members—not those in this room, of course—think that you might be too young. That you’re just a child. But I know you’re not, right? Can you handle what I’m about to say to you?”</p><p>Winston Ashby looked skeptical. Christen straightened up in her chair. “Of course. I can handle anything you’re about to say, Dad.”</p><p>“All right.” Richard fixed her with a firm, unwavering stare. “The business partners you’re going to visit are…shall we say…unusual.”</p><p><em>Unusual</em>.</p><p>A nauseating itch started to form deep in Christen’s stomach.</p><p><em>Could it be? No. Surely not</em>.</p><p>“Unusual?”</p><p>“They’re not, strictly speaking, something our American regulatory friends would be too pleased to hear about. Of course, they’re not unusual in a <em>business</em> sense. Most of the biggest companies in America have dealings with them. And we do, of course, as well. After all, one can’t be left behind in matters such as this.” Richard laughed. It was a booming thunderclap of a laugh that made Christen flinch in her seat. The other board members laughed, on cue, as well.</p><p>“So it’s not…” Christen clenched her sweaty fists under the table, where no one else could see, and forced the words out of her mouth. “It’s not legal?”</p><p>“Our legal team has…dealt with it,” Richard responded smoothly.</p><p>When Christen closed her eyes, she could see those tattered articles emblazoned against the insides of her eyelids.</p><p><em>Authoritarian governments. Child labor. Militia groups</em>.</p><p>“What are you saying, Dad?” Christen opened her eyes and tried to give him the same sort of stare he was giving her. Level-headed. Calm. Adult, not a child, like she’d just promised him. “Tell me straight. I’m not afraid.”</p><p><em>I’m afraid</em>.</p><p>Richard cleared his throat, casting glances to the other board members as if to say, <em>See, isn’t she impressive?</em> “It’s very simple, really. We have a manufacturing arrangement with governmental and non-governmental groups in certain regions. Winston helped set these up years ago—just, like I mentioned, as most of the largest retailers and tech companies in America. It brings the cost of manufacturing down significantly, at the cost of circumventing a few bureaucratic labor laws.”</p><p>
  <em>Circumventing a few bureaucratic labor laws?</em>
</p><p>“Are the conditions dangerous?”</p><p>Richard laughed again. Was it a little more forced this time? “Not at all, Christen. Perfectly safe.”</p><p>
  <em>Okay. Okay. Perfectly safe. </em>
</p><p>“And they’re factories, you say?”</p><p>“Factories, just like the ones we have here in the states,” Richard said. His voice was calm—soothing, almost—but his eyes were starting to grow steely. She could read that look perfectly. He wanted her to stop asking questions. Stop showing any inkling of doubt.</p><p>She coughed into her clenched fist. She looked up and around the table. Every eye in the room was boring into her. Richard’s face was expectant. Demanding. Winston looked calm, but there was an almost rabid gleam in his eye, like he was just waiting for her fuck something up.</p><p>She slowly unclenched her hand and laid it down on the packet of papers. Her fingers didn’t shake.</p><p>Neither did her voice when she said, “Yes, of course. Of course I’ll go.”</p><p><em>I’ll see it for myself. I’ll see that it’s not so bad. Perfectly safe. I’ll see it for myself and for Pia</em>.</p><p>Richard’s smile was glittering and hard and satisfied, and she knew she’d said the right thing.</p>
<hr/><p>“You did the right thing,” Richard said to her that night. “and I’m so proud of you. Listen—you nail this business trip, you fix this contract issue, and you cement the legitimacy of this dynasty. No one will question you again. When you come back, you can elevate Mal to whatever position you want, and nobody will doubt your judgment. You’ve strengthened this family. For me, for Mal, for your mother.”</p><p><em>For me, for Mal, for your mother</em>.</p><p>Those are the words she repeated to herself the night before she was due to depart on the trip. She locked herself in her closet and pulled out, from beneath boxes and piles of clothes, the crate of Stanford papers she’d buried there.</p><p><em>For me, for Mal, for your mother</em>.</p><p>Her fingers trembled as she opened a folder. Tucked behind a couple old syllabi from Pia’s classes, she found the pieces of paper she was looking for. The articles in Spanish that she had printed out that night. They were a bit ratty, from being repeatedly crumpled and smoothed out, but still legible.</p><p><em>Authoritarian governments. Child labor. Militia groups</em>.</p><p>
  <em>Surely not. No, surely not. It can’t be that bad. I’ll go. I’ll see for myself. Everyone has factories. Daddy said so. </em>
</p><p>She stopped by her mother’s bedside before heading out to the airfield. Mal was asleep, dozing on the window seat with her head against the glass. Christen stooped by the bed and took her mother’s hand in hers. “I’m going on a quick business trip, Mom. I’ll be back in just a few days.”</p><p>“Where are you off to this time, honey?” Her mom asked, in that thin voice that seemed to grow wearier by the day.</p><p>When Christen named the location, her mother’s eyes went wide.</p><p>“Chris,” she croaked out. “Honey. Don’t go.”</p><p>“Don’t go?” Christen furrowed her brow. A dread chill ran down her spine. She had an off feeling that Pia was in the room, observing her in that calm, quiet way she used to. “Mommy, I have to. It’ll be fine. I can take care of myself.”</p><p>“You don’t have to go…” Tara paused to clear her throat. “…just because your father wants you to. You don’t need to do everything he asks.”</p><p>“Don’t worry. I want to do this for me. For us, for our family.” Christen set her jaw firmly, then leaned in dropped a light kiss on her mother’s forehead. “I’ll be back before you know it, Mom.”</p>
<hr/><p>The heat was oppressive. The very air seemed to curdle against the curves of her neck, between her legs, where they stuck to the leather car seats.</p><p>The men didn’t know she spoke Spanish. When she’d arrived four days ago, as she descended from the steps of the private jet, she heard one of the men whisper to another, in Spanish, “Richard Press sent a fucking child on this trip?”</p><p><em>This could be useful</em>, she thought, and asked immediately in English for a translator.</p><p>On that first day, she had asked whether they were going to go to the factories. The men in the room—all men—had exchanged glances. <em>No</em>, they had said, practically in unison. <em>You don’t need to go to the factories.</em></p><p>“Dile que las fábricas están demasiado lejos,” she heard one of the commanders barking at his underlings.</p><p>
  <em>Tell her that the factories are too far away. </em>
</p><p>“Well, then, I want a report on the factory conditions,” Christen demanded. And so she got one, a gleaming PowerPoint presentation that explained the ins and outs of the manufacturing process. Complete with smiling photos of clean, well-dressed teenagers on the assembly lines.</p><p><em>Well, this doesn’t look too bad</em>, she had thought dubiously. <em>Like Dad said, perfectly safe</em>. <em>Right?</em></p><p>Something roiled under the surface. A faint, pulsating dread. She pushed it aside.</p><p>Four days, spent across a gleaming marble conference table from these men. Four days trying not to glance out of the corner of her eyes at the men with assault rifles stationed at every corner of the room. Four days spent listening to them insult her in Spanish. Four days picking up on their negotiating secrets, savvily using them against them.</p><p>Four days of negotiations at an end, and she had some of the contractual language Richard pressed for on the phone every night. But not all of it.</p><p><em>Not all of it</em>, she thought, watching the forested scenery flash by through the car windows. The last day of negotiations had ended. They were on their way to the airfield, where she would board her private jet back to LA. <em>I didn’t get everything we wanted</em>.</p><p>The treetops all around her seemed to buzz with static.</p><p>She hadn’t slept well—slept at all, really—in four days.</p><p>The treetops blurred into the bright blue sky behind, came back into focus, blurred again.</p><p>The men in the front seat were whispering to each other again.</p><p>
  <em>“These Americans will never understand.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Well, they shouldn’t have sent a child. A girl! A fucking pushover. If Richard Press really wanted this contract done right, he would’ve come himself.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“He would’ve at least sent someone with balls.”</em>
</p><p>They laughed. Christen clenched her sweaty fists in her lap and kept her gaze focused out the window.</p><p>
  <em>“Next time he better send someone serious. Not his little daughter, who he’s training up to be some company figurehead. Surely he’s got some men running the real business behind the scenes.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“She’s hot, and that’s it. She’ll be a media darling. That’s probably what he’s hoping for.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em> “These Americans, these fucking Americans. Honestly, none of them have balls. None of them know what the real work is like. And honestly, none of them care. They just want to keep their pretty little hands clean. This bitch just wants to keep her pretty little hands clean—”</em>
</p><p>“Llévame a las fábricas.”</p><p>The men jumped a mile in the air, and if she weren’t so livid, she would’ve laughed.</p><p>“¡¿Habla español?!” the man driving the car yelped to his partner. </p><p>“Senorita,” the partner turned around with wide eyes, “no quiere—I mean to say, miss, you don’t actually want to go to the factories.”</p><p>“I do.” Christen straightened her shoulders and hoped—prayed—that her expression looked like her father’s, when he was angry. She thought it probably did, because the men looked terrified.</p><p>
  <em>I’ll show these fuckers. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>They think I’m too afraid to get my pretty little hands dirty? I’ll show them what Richard Press’ daughter is capable of. </em>
</p><p>The men had their phones out instantly, both placing frantic calls to different contacts, casting furtive glances over their shoulders now that they knew Christen could understand everything they said. In a few minutes, the car made a U-turn, exited the sleek freeway, and headed down a side road.</p><p>The paved road turned into dirt roads.</p><p>The dirt roads were stained, dark.</p><p>The patter of children’s feet sounded far in the distance.</p><p><em>The factories are too far</em>, they had said on the first day, but that had been a lie, of course. It seemed to Christen that they were there in no time. The car inched through one barbed-wire, walled-in checkpoint. Then another. Her heart was starting to beat out of her chest, as a sense of dread crawled over her.</p><p>Then, suddenly rising in front of the car, there was an enormous gray concrete building. When she peered up at it, leaning against the car window, the hulking structure seemed stretched far into the sky. It was maybe six stories. Maybe eight. But it seemed much larger.</p><p>They let her out of the car, and she stood there with the two men, waiting. It was oppressively sunny. Her heels sunk into the dirt, her navy blue suit clung to her sweaty skin. The drone of bugs surrounded them.</p><p>The sun was beating down overhead. It was scalding hot on the back of her neck; when she touched her hair, it seemed to singe her fingertips.</p><p>“Ms. Press!”</p><p>The heavy metal doors at the front of the factory had opened, and a large man, in a suit—flanked by two more men, with assault rifles—bustled out to greet her with a wide, white smile.</p><p>“Come in, come in. The men said that you had an, ahem, last minute request to see the factories.”</p><p>“Yes,” Christen said primly, chin lifted in the air. “I want to see them for myself.”</p><p>“This is one of our main manufacturing buildings. It’s typical of the rest,” the man said as he led the visitors in. (<em>Translation: it’s probably the best one</em>, Christen thought.) “Here, we manufacture the component parts of the fingerprint scanners that Press Electronics uses in their newest phone models.”</p><p>“The ones we’re thinking of implementing in the laptops as well?”</p><p>“Yes, yes, the very same.”</p><p>A narrow hallway led out to the main manufacturing floor. Christen peered around the enormous, cavernous warehouse space, filled with saw-toothed machines and steel staircases and conveyer belts. The noise was deafening. The air was dim and dusty, nothing like the photos she’d been shown.</p><p>And there were kids. Children. Children in brightly colored t-shirts and shorts, peering over at Christen with dark, curious eyes, but the movement of their hands never ceasing.</p><p><em>These aren’t teenagers</em>. Christen turned on her heel, surveying the room. She felt a little light-headed. <em>These aren’t the faces they showed in that presentation. These are children. That boy can’t be more than ten. Does Daddy know? He must not know</em>.</p><p><em>It’s good that I came in person. We need to fix this</em>.</p><p>“Off the main floor, we have workers tasked with doing the finer work,” the man explained, ushering Christen along with a gracious sweep of his arm. They climbed a steel staircase and walked past a line of smaller rooms. In the rooms, there were lines of kids huddled around tables, carefully placing wires and lenses in metal shells. Christen paused at the door of one room. She recognized the shape of the shells. Those were the new Press Play prototypes.</p><p>Some of these girls were around fifteen years old. In her head, she suddenly saw an image of Mal, fifteen, sitting in their gleaming marble kitchen, a finished Press Play prototype in her soft, manicured hands.</p><p>Again, the roiling unease. The distant nausea.</p><p>“Ms. Press?” the man said. She blinked and realized that all the girls in the room had paused, and were staring up at her. The man looked vaguely irritated that her presence had interrupted the work. “Shall we?” he prodded.</p><p>“Yes, sorry,” Christen said. She smiled over her shoulder as she left the room. They didn’t smile back.</p><p>The windows had bars on them, she noticed.</p><p>A loop of the factory took almost an hour. They made it down to the point where they’d entered, at last, and Christen stood still at the door for a moment, staring across the din. The organized chaos. The dust.</p><p>The underaged labor. The men with assault rifles stationed methodically along the walls.</p><p>
  <em>My god, I need to talk to Dad about this. This isn’t just bureaucratic corner-cutting. This can’t be the backbone of our supply chain. </em>
</p><p>(<em>What are the chances he doesn’t already know?</em> A lower, insidious voice asked.)</p><p>“Can I talk to some of the workers?” Christen asked.</p><p>Her guide’s mouth settled into a firm, uneasy frown. “No. No, they’re working. Surely you don’t want to disturb them, when they are just trying to reach <em>your</em> deadlines. Let us go, Ms. Press. I’m sure you’ve seen everything you needed today. I hope you will give a good report to your father.”</p><p>
  <em>Like hell I will. </em>
</p><p>She hesitated, just feet away from the kids. She saw them looking at her again. There was a girl near the end of the line, with little green rubber gloves on her hands, snapping some metal thing into pieces along perforated lines. She had a pink bandanna over her hair and a yellow apron, too big for her, wrapped around her body.</p><p>She couldn’t have been more than seven.</p><p>She stared long and hard at Christen, and Christen stared back.</p><p>“Ms. Press!”</p><p>“I’m coming,” she responded. She gave the girl a smile. She turned away.</p><p>Then, suddenly, she heard a cry, and felt a sharp tug at the back of her jacket. She whirled around. The girl had leapt from her post, had thrown herself at Christen. Her skinny little arms wrapped around Christen’s waist, and she sobbed.</p><p>“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Christen gasped, her arms going around the girl automatically as a stir ran through the room.</p><p>“¡Ayúdeme!” the girl wailed. “¡Ayúdeme!”</p><p><em>Help me</em>.</p><p>All the children were staring, pointing. The guards rushed in. “Hey, put the guns down—” Christen snapped, throwing her arm out protectively as the men crowded around them. She knelt and tried to hold the girl’s hands in her own. They clung together for a moment, but then the guards were grabbing the girl by the shoulders, and she was screaming and thrashing.</p><p>“Ms. Press! I am so sorry about that!” the guide gasped, laying one beefy hand on her wrist, pulling her back towards the door.</p><p>Christen snapped her arm out of his grasp and looked back towards the girl. A guard was holding her firmly, by her shoulders, as she shuddered with sobs and reached towards Christen.</p><p>“It’s just a misunderstanding. Don’t hurt her.” She grabbed the arm of the nearest guard, so hard that he winced and stared at her in total shock. But even as he tried to flinch away, she held fast. “Do you understand me?” She said, voice hard as iron, loud enough to make the room go still. “<em>Do not hurt her</em>.”</p><p>“No, no, of course not.” The man smiled, but looked a little affronted. “Who do you think we are?”</p><p>Christen loosened her grip, but turned mistrustfully to glance in the direction of the girl. She had stopped struggling, and was now standing limply beside the guard holding her, crying.</p><p>“Ma’am, the car is coming back around,” another guard said authoritatively, stepping up beside her. “If you’ll just come with us…”</p><p>Christen looked back towards the girl. They made eye contact. Christen memorized the forlorn expression on the girl’s face, the tears still standing in her huge brown eyes. She felt a strong urge not to just leave her, but she couldn’t just <em>take</em> her, of course; that would be ridiculous. Instead, she gave her a smile, hoping it was comforting. <em>I’ll come back to check on her, after this is all fixed.</em> <em>This is preposterous. It’s insane. We’ve got to do something about this</em>, she thought. <em>Dad really must not have any idea what’s going on down here—how bad it really is</em>.</p><p>With one last glance over her shoulder, she followed the group out a nearby metal door, which started to swing slowly shut behind them. Behind her, she heard a chorus of low murmurs as the children began to talk. Christen stood on the cement sidewalk bordering the dirt parking lot, already mentally rehearsing what she would say as she described these horrors to her father. The men walked further out into the parking lot, yammering away on their phones, asking where the car was that was supposed to be picking them up.</p><p>Them there was the sound of a wail, as if the girl had started struggling again.</p><p>Christen whirled around and tugged at the heavy metal door handle, but it had locked behind her already. She pulled at it with all her might. The chaotic noises from behind the door seemed to increase. The men were further away, and on their phones, so maybe they didn’t hear.</p><p>“Ms. Press!” The man in charge turned around and seemed highly irritated to see her tugging at the door handle. “Your car is here! What are you doing?”</p><p>From inside the building, there was a burst of yelling, and then short, high-pitched scream, and then an echoing gunshot.</p><p>And then stillness.</p><p>Christen stumbled back from the door, almost catching her heel on the edge of the sidewalk. Two guards rushed up to her side, grabbing her upper arms, wrangling her back from the building.</p><p><em>Vamos, vamos, vamos</em>, the men were shouting.</p><p>Her head was ringing violently, and her vision was narrowing to a single bright point, and she reached one futile hand out towards the door as they marched her away. <em>I need to go back. I need to get in. I need to see what happened</em>—</p><p>They deposited her in the back of the car and slammed the door behind her. The wheels squealed as they pulled away.</p><p>It took a while before she felt like she could see again. Before she could draw breath. In a daze, she watched as sweat trickled from the driver’s forehead down the side of his face. The man in the passenger seat turned to stare at her. “Ms. Press. You’re okay?”</p><p>“Yes,” she said in a voice that was not hers. It was low-pitched, eerily calm. “I’m okay.”</p><p>“The child is fine, I am sure. I assure you.”</p><p>Beads of sweat ran down the side of the driver’s neck.</p><p><em>Lies</em>.</p><p>“Yes,” Christen said. She clasped her hands until her knuckles went white, digging her nails into her skin. “Yes.”</p><p>The car tore down the road to the airfield and pulled up next to her private jet, which was waiting with the stairs down. Christen rose from the car and blinked up at the white aircraft, glittering and spotless. It hurt her eyes.  </p><p>The men stood by as her pilot ran down to grab her suitcases. “Ms. Press, it was lovely to have you visit.”</p><p>Christen exerted every fiber of concentration in her being to nod her head slowly, to force her lips to move. “Thank you. It was lovely to visit.”</p><p>She climbed the steps slowly, turning around at the top to wave politely.</p><p>As soon as the airplane door closed behind her, she sank to the ground, her hands clutching at her knees.</p><p>“Christen?” Her pilot exclaimed, reaching out for her. “Christen, what’s wrong?”</p><p>“Nothing—” she choked out, scrambling to her feet, abandoning her heels on the lush carpet. She tore down the wide walkway between the spaced-out leather seats and burst into the bathroom. In a second, she was on her knees again, vomiting into the toilet.</p><p>“Christen, do you need a doctor?” Her pilot hovered in the door, panicky. “Should we stay?”</p><p>“No,” Christen gasped. “Absolutely not. We’re leaving, now.”</p><p>“Are you sure—”</p><p>“I’m sure!” Christen snapped. As the pilot backed up, nervous but compliant, she turned and retched into the toilet again.</p><p>The bile on her lips mingled with another taste. Salty. It was tears, she realized, pouring down her face.</p><p>When she looked down at her hands, she saw little bloody half-moons. She had dug her nails in so far, in the car from the factories to the airfield, that she’d drawn blood.</p><p><em>Blood. There is literal blood on my hands</em>.  </p>
<hr/><p>Her father called her while she was still on the plane.</p><p>“Christen! When you get in, I want you to come straight to the office from the airfield. We’re having a board meeting.”</p><p>“Daddy, no, please.” Christen laid her head against the seat back and tried to calm the heaving in her stomach. She had just changed out of her suit and shoved it into the plane’s trash bin. She never wanted to see that suit again in her life. “I’ve been gone four days. I want to see Mom first.”</p><p>“It won’t take long. We’ll head back home together after the meeting.” There was a high, excited thrum in Richard’s voice.</p><p>“Daddy, I’m…I’m so tired, and I feel sick, and—and I really need to talk to you, <em>alone</em>—”</p><p>“I’ll tell the board that you’ll be here in three hours.”</p><p>The line went dead.</p>
<hr/><p>A car took her straight from the airport to headquarters.</p><p>As usual, to avoid being seen by any Press Electronics employees who weren’t aware of her identify, she was dropped off at one of the back entrances and took a private elevator leading straight into the executive suite. In the elevator, she smoothed her hands over the new suit she’d put on from her suitcase. Even after mints and seltzer, her mouth still felt sour and shriveled. Or was that her heart?  </p><p>When Christen pushed the conference room door open, she immediately flinched. The bright, glassy room was full of standing, clapping, grinning executives. The roar of applause filled the room as she made her way to the head of the table, where her father was standing. Richard was clapping and grinning, more than anyone.</p><p>“The woman of the hour!” he roared to the room, taking her hand in a painfully tight handshake. “Christen Press!”</p><p>Christen blinked at Richard, trying not to betray that she had no idea what was going on. <em>I didn’t get the contract terms we wanted. What’s the big deal? </em>“Wow, what a reception!” She punted as she sat down in the empty seat to Richard’s right.</p><p>Her stomach was still roiling inside her.</p><p>“When I got the call from the commander down this morning, I literally could not believe it. He said that they reconsidered after your last meeting, while you were already on your way to the airfield, and based solely on how impressed they were with you, they independently agreed to the contract terms we demanded and more,” Richard announced proudly, finally taking a seat beside her. The rest of the room took their cue and settled down. “They said, and I quote, that Christen exhibited ‘incredible leadership’ and was ‘tough enough to handle anything.’ They’ve agreed to doubling the production quotas and extending to a ten-year contract. That was beyond our wildest expectations. Christen, I couldn’t be prouder.”</p><p>
  <em>Extending to a ten-year contract? </em>
</p><p>Christen had to take a moment to settle her stomach. She reached for a glass of water and took a slow sip before answering. “You’re all too kind,” Christen forced a bright smile to her face as she looked around the room. “Thanks, everyone.”</p><p>Winston Ashby was clapping along with everyone else, but his face looked particularly sour.</p><p>Funny, how a week ago, one-upping Winston Ashby seemed like the most important thing in the world.</p><p>“Daddy,” she said under her breath, under the roar of the applause. “we really need to talk.”</p><p>He gave her one piercing look, and it seemed like he was looking straight through her. Somehow, even though he was still smiling, his mouth seemed to pinch around the edges. His eyes went icy.</p><p>“We’ll talk tonight,” he hissed back, through his still-smiling teeth.</p>
<hr/><p>They talked that night.</p><p>“They shot her,” Christen said. She could barely force the words out of her throat.</p><p>“Right there. Right on the other side of the door. And Dad, she couldn’t have been more than seven.”</p><p>
  <em>The kids were too young—the guards, the armed guards—the barbed wire and the high concrete walls, like a prison camp—</em>
</p><p>She went on and on. Richard listened.</p><p>At the end, he stood, and came out from behind his desk. He put his arms around her.</p><p>“Princess, I’m so sorry you had to witness that,” he said. His tone was soothing, peaceful. “We’ll fix it. You hear me?”</p><p><em>We’ll fix it</em>, Christen heard. Her heartbeat calmed. <em>We’ll fix it</em>.</p>
<hr/><p>She crept into her mother’s room that night, finally. Dressed in comfy old sweats, she curled up next to her mother in the wide bed. “You knew, Mom, didn’t you?” Christen whispered.</p><p>Tara’s eyes blinked slowly. She seemed like she was just about to fall asleep. “Christen…”</p><p>“About the factories,” Christen supplied the words. “You knew years ago, didn’t you? Remember that night you asked me if I felt good about what was happening? Were you trying to figure out how much I knew?”</p><p>Tara nodded, almost imperceptibly. “I…” she had to stop and take a slow, pained swallow. “Your father never…told me much. But I figured out some of it. I knew enough.”</p><p>“It was so awful, Mommy.” Christen had to fight to keep herself from literally whimpering. <em>You’re a grown-up now</em>, she had to remind herself. <em>You’re providing for this family. Get</em> <em>ahold of yourself</em>. “But I talked to Daddy tonight. We’re going to fix it.”</p><p>Tara looked down at Christen for a long moment. Then, out of nowhere, she said—</p><p>“You could leave.”</p><p>“What?” Christen sat bolt upright. She couldn’t have heard correctly. Mal stirred in the window seat, then settled again, snoring. “Mom, what?” Christen gasped, lower this time.</p><p>“You don’t need to do this if you don’t want to. You could leave the business. You could leave…” she paused, regathered her strength. “Leave this house. Leave California.”</p><p>“Mom. I can’t.” Christen glanced around wildly, as if her father was about to pop out from behind a curtain. She looked towards the door. It was closed, thank goodness. “I can’t leave! This is…this is all I’ve ever known. And I wouldn’t leave you. Or Mal! Where would I even go; what would I do?”</p><p>“You could take Mal.”</p><p>Christen’s eyes were filling with tears. Leave? She could never. Press Electronics might be doing one thing wrong, but she would put a stop to it. It was still the best company in the world. It was home. It was her whole world. “Mom, stop. This is crazy. Besides…” she straightened her shoulders. “I need to stay. I need to fix this. Daddy promised me tonight—we’ll fix this.”</p>
<hr/><p>But it wasn’t fixed.</p><p>A month later. Two. She tried to sit her father down and ask about the progress. <em>What are we doing to change things at the factories? How are we adjusting the contracts?</em> <em>How are we increasing regulatory oversight? </em></p><p>It seemed like he was dodging her. He’d never dodged her before.</p><p>Her nightmares increased in frequency. Now, always about the same thing. <em>The sun, the dark roads, the bars over the windows, the girl in the pink bandanna, the screaming, the screaming, the screaming</em>.</p><p>Three months. Four.</p><p>“Don’t worry,” Richard said to her one night, when they were eating dinner, just the two of them. “All the guards who were on duty that day were fired. Princess, you should never have had to see anything like that. They should never have put you in that position.”</p><p>Christen almost threw her fork across the room. “Daddy, you know that’s not what I’m talking about. We can’t contract with these factories anymore. You said we’d fix it. What are we doing?”</p><p>Richard stood briskly from the table, tossing his linen dinner napkin down onto his plate. He had barely touched his food. Christen watched, numb, as the napkin started slowly soaking up the sauce from his steak. “I need to go, princess. I have a meeting.”</p><p>“What meeting?” Christen asked. She hadn’t known about a meeting that night.</p><p>Richard paused by the door. “Nothing you need to concern yourself with, Christen.”</p><p>It was punishment. He was excluding her from meetings in retaliation, she knew, for pressing him on this. But she couldn’t stop. It was an automatic reaction, like the jerk of a knee.</p><p>
  <em>There’s blood on our hands. How could I do otherwise? </em>
</p><p>She tried the door of his office one day and found it locked, though she could hear his voice and others from beyond the walls. It had never been locked for her before. She was watching from the windows, later, as Winston Ashby left the house in his towncar.</p>
<hr/><p>“Daddy, what if Mal started leading some of the marketing meetings?” she asked one night.</p><p>It had been eight months.</p><p>Richard fixed with a weary, irritated stare. “Mal’s not ready.”</p><p>“You said…” she cleared her throat. “You said that if I went on that trip to the factories, it would show my leadership. You said I could start getting Mal involved in business decisions on the marketing side. So I went.”</p><p>Richard turned back to his phone. “She’s not ready, Christen.”</p><p>“She’s fifteen already—”</p><p>“She’s not capable yet. But…” Richard stared at Christen with a weird, intense gleam in his eyes. “What if I asked her to take on more on the supply chain side?”</p><p>Christen stared at her dad in disbelief.</p><p>
  <em>Who even are you?</em>
</p><p>“Why would you ask <em>Mal</em> to handle more on the supply chain side?”</p><p>Richard shrugged. “Well, Princess, you don’t seem very inclined to it.”</p><p>“She can’t. Dad, you know she can’t. What are you thinking?! I’m trying to fix things for us—”</p><p>“Is that a no? You don’t want Mal included?”</p><p>“No!” Christen burst out. “Of course not. Daddy, that’s crazy. We can’t get her involved in this. It’s dangerous, and she’s too young. If you had seen the things that I saw down there—Daddy, we need to make things right—” she felt her breath coming in shallower and shallower pants. She felt a little dizzy. “Dad, you’re not listening to me.” Her voice trembled a little. “You’re scaring me.”</p><p>After a long moment, staring across the table at her, Richard’s face softened. “Christen. Princess, I’m sorry. I really am. I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s just…” he sighed. “I’m just not used to you fighting me on things like this. I’m not used to the two of us disagreeing. I hate it. Don’t you hate it?”</p><p>“I hate it,” Christen echoed. She really did.</p><p><em>But I’m not going to stop fighting</em>.</p><p>“I’m hard on you because I love you, all right? Love isn’t always coddling. Sometimes love is asking someone to grow. I need you to understand.”</p><p>“I’m trying,” Christen said. “I really am trying to understand. Can’t you understand my perspective?”</p><p>“I’m trying, too,” Richard said.</p><p>But when Christen looked across the table at him, she saw a glinting hardness in his eyes.</p><p>He wasn’t trying.</p><p>Frankly, if she had to be honest, neither was she.</p><p>Somehow, they had diverged. They used to walk arm in arm through life, but after that fateful trip, they had marched onto separately forked paths. And now, Christen was afraid that no matter how hard she screamed, or how far she stretched out her arms, her father was out of reach.</p>
<hr/><p>The gulf between Christen and Richard grew wider and wider. They used to see each other for ten, twelve hours a day. That number slowly shrunk. Eight. Then five.</p><p>As she was shut out of the board meetings more and more, Christen decided to take a pivot. She proposed—and Richard agreed, with something like gleeful relief—that she should “join” the organization in a lower rank, as a rank-and-file business consultant who popped into the office from time to time, as “Kristen Tyler.” She knew that her father was happy that she was staying out of the room where the real decisions were happening.</p><p>It was strange to be on the outside, but also, kind of freeing. It was strange to talk to the regular employees and hear what they had to say about the board members (she was vindictively thrilled to hear that many people seemed to hate Winston Ashby. People seemed a little terrified of Richard. That reaction made more sense to Christen now than ever before).</p><p>It was strange to hear people sit around and speculate about whether Richard Press had children. <em>I swear he’s got sons</em>, one person would say, and then someone else would say, <em>No, I don’t think he has any kids. We’d know by now, right? How do you keep something like that a secret?</em></p><p>More than anything, in this period, Christen realized how isolated she was. How bad she was at existing without the secure bubble of her father’s protection. And that rattled her to the core. <em>Am I actually stupid?</em> She wondered, when her direct supervisor shot down one of her ideas, his tone all nasty and dismissive.</p><p>And when she tried to say hi to a group of girls her age one day, they just shot her a nasty look and scurried away. <em>I don’t actually know how to make friends</em>, she realized. <em>I’m just this weird loner who’s never learned how to socialize.</em></p><p>
  <em>How would I make it out in the real world? I couldn’t. I could never survive. </em>
</p><p>Strangely, Mal was now the one spending more and more time in the company. Christen sometimes passed her in the hallway, striding purposefully along with her Bluetooth in her ear. Sometimes, looking out her window, she saw Richard and Mal getting in the car together. At least that was a comfort. At least Mal was finally, after all these years, getting integrated. She wanted to check in with Mal herself—to see how she was doing—but weirdly, she started having trouble catching Mal. Mal always seemed to be just a tad bit too busy to chat.</p><p><em>I guess this is comeuppance</em>, Christen thought, <em>for all those years I made her feel like I was too busy for her.</em>  <em>As long as he keeps her far, far away from those factories, and anything having to do with them</em>.</p><p>But still, looking at her little sister’s shining, determined face from a distance—a face that used to be dreary and hopeless, now bursting with life—she couldn’t feel sad. She just felt affection. And worry.</p><p>Christen started spending more and more time in her mother’s room. It’s as if the sadder Christen got, the more she related to her mother. And she had never thought of her mother as sad. <em>Wistful</em>, maybe. <em>Nervous</em>. But not sad.</p><p>Now, Christen began to realize that perhaps her mother had been sad for years. Sometimes they looked into each other’s eyes and found, mirrored there, the deep, churning terror they both felt.</p><p>Richard was out of town, off on some business trip, one day, when Tara pulled an envelope out from under her pillow and held it out to her. “Christen, I want you to take these.”</p><p>Hesitantly, Christen tore the seal on the envelope and looked down at the cards that spilled out into her hands. One was a driver’s license, made out under a new, unfamiliar name. There was a bank card, and a credit card, for an account under the same name.</p><p><em>Kristen Channing</em>.</p><p>“Mom, how did you—”</p><p>“It doesn’t matter how I did it, the important thing is that it’s done.” Tara leaned back on her pillows. “There’s enough in that account to last a long time. It’s not traceable at all. I’m getting them made for Mal too.”</p><p>“Mom.” Christen felt her voice crack. Tears started to leak down her cheeks as she realized the import of what her mother was saying. “If I leave, I can’t fix anything. I’ve been part of this organization for years. I’m responsible for this…this evil. I <em>need</em> to fix things.”</p><p>“Christen,” Tara replied wearily. “If you stayed, would you be able to fix things?”</p><p>“I…” Christen faltered. “I mean…”</p><p>Tara grasped Christen’s hand with surprising strength. “Listen. My sweet girl. None of this was your fault. You didn’t know.”</p><p>Christen just sat there, utterly miserable, remembering how she had reacted that last night with Pia. <em>But I did know. I could have known. I should have known.</em></p><p>“You can get out. You can live wherever you like, do something with your life, something simple, that you love.” Tara gave her a long, heartbreaking look. “You can love who you love.”</p><p>Christen let out a choked sob. She tried to imagine what her mom was saying. She couldn’t.</p><p>It was like trying to see colors she’d never seen before. Colors beyond imagining.</p><p>“You told me to run, Mom. Years ago. You told me to get a little house somewhere, remember?”</p><p>Tara’s hand squeezed Christen’s, just a little. “…bake apple pies. Pick flowers.”</p><p>Christen’s laugh was wet and teary. “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m sorry. Maybe I should’ve gone then. I…” tears overwhelmed her for a moment. “I should’ve listened to you. I always should’ve listened to you.”</p><p>“It’s not too late, baby.”</p><p>“Mom. I need to stay. What about Mal?”</p><p>“Mal adores you. She always has. She’ll go where you go.”</p><p>“But how can we leave you?!”</p><p>Christen had to lean closer to hear her mother’s whispered words. “Christen, my sweet girl. Soon, I’m the one who’s going to have to leave you.”  </p>
<hr/><p>In a sweet California spring, two years after Christen graduated from college, her mother died.</p><p>Her father stumbled home from the office that day, suit in disarray, face red from crying. Christen ran down the stairs to meet him, and they clung to each other. It was the closest she had felt to him in ages, and she remembered, with a wild desperation, that he was still her good and kind father.</p><p>
  <em>He has to fix everything. I can still fix everything. I can make him see reason. After all, it’s what Mom would’ve wanted, and he loved Mom. </em>
</p><p>The worst part of it was that Christen and Mal couldn’t attend the public funeral, since nobody knew they existed—the worst part was seeing the newspaper headlines announcing that Richard Press’s wife had died, and feeling like no matter how loudly you screamed, it wouldn’t be enough. It wouldn’t be enough to express how much you were hurting. To bring her back.</p><p>No, maybe the worst part was the way the house echoed, cavernous and haunting, in her absence. On the first night, Christen peeked into the room to see that staff had already cleared out the bed and all the medical equipment. There was nothing left except for four deep little wells in the thick carpet, where the wheels of the bed had pressed in for years. Christen lay down inside the invisible box left there and cried herself to sleep.</p><p>No, no, the worst part was the way everyone else seemed to return to normal so soon. Her father, honestly, she wasn’t so surprised by. Richard threw himself into work as a coping mechanism. He always had.</p><p>But Mal? Where was Mal? Why was she in meetings day and night, instead of at home, with Christen, grieving?</p><p>She got a partial, confusing, lonesome answer one night, weeks after the funeral, when she peeked into Mal’s room. Mal was sitting cross-legged on her bed, on the phone, papers spread around her. When Christen came in, Mal looked up and frowned, then put her phone on mute.</p><p>When Christen said she hadn’t seen her around and was worried, Mal just shrugged. She wouldn’t quite meet Christen’s eye. “Daddy says that the best way to honor Mom’s legacy is to work hard in her memory. At the company she loved, and that sustained her through all these years.”</p><p><em>Yeah</em>. Christen could barely contain a snort. <em>That sounds like something he’d say. </em></p><p>“I’m just worried about you,” Christen said tentatively.</p><p>For the first time in a long time, there’s something like a softness in Mal’s eyes. “Chris, don’t worry about me. In fact, I think we should be worrying about you. Daddy says that you’ve taken Mom’s sickness harder than all the rest of us this past year. That you’re emotionally compromised. You should be sure to rest up well, so you can rejoin the ranks.”</p><p>
  <em>Oh, is that what he’s been telling everyone?</em>
</p><p>“Yeah,” Christen said, her voice sounding hollow and disingenuous even to herself. “Yeah, you’re right, maybe I should just…rest more.”</p><p>Mal turned back to her work.</p><p><em>Fuck rest</em>, Christen thought as she stormed back down the hallway to her room. <em>If he’s getting Mal involved in the business, we need to do shut down those factories.</em> <em>No more sitting on the sidelines, “resting,” letting myself get shut out of the decisions. </em></p>
<hr/><p>It took another few weeks, and many failed attempts, but Christen finally caught Richard alone.</p><p>With every failed attempt, Christen’s anger grew. So by the night she at last found him alone in his office, it was a powder keg ready to explode.</p><p>“We need to talk, Dad.”</p><p>“Christen, princess.” Richard looked up from his papers. The first look in his eye was something like love. The next look, a split second later, was something like rage. “What’s wrong?”</p><p>Christen walked up to the corner of his desk. She stared for a moment at the green leather chair facing it. How many hours—how many days and weeks of her life had she spent in that chair? Doing everything he told her to do?</p><p><em>No more of that</em>.</p><p>“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Mal lately.”</p><p>Her tone was deceptively light.</p><p>“You know, she’s actually quite good at all this,” Richard said. His tone was also deceptively light. “I should’ve listened to you years ago.”</p><p>Christen swallowed, determined not to let the shallow flattery get in the way of her goals. She wouldn’t fall for that anymore. “If Mal is getting more involved in the business, Dad, we need to talk about the factories.”</p><p>It was like the match to the powder keg.</p><p>“No. No, no, Christen, no more of this.” Richard rose to his feet, towering with anger. “I’ve given you months—<em>years</em>—to get over this. I’ve been patient. I’ve been understanding. It’s a childish infatuation you have. I raised you better—” His voice rose, crackled, sharp like lightning over her head. “I raised you better than to be so naïve. So <em>soft</em>. Who are you, and what have you done to my brave, resourceful, practical daughter?”</p><p>“Dad.” Christen tried to maintain eye contact with him. “I’m <em>serious</em>. We can’t keep doing this.”</p><p>“Christen, Christen, Christen.” Richard shook his head wearily. He came up to her and placed his hands firmly on her shoulders. His fingers gripped like iron; she winced in pain.</p><p>“Maybe I was wrong to thrust you into this role so young. I think you’re still reeling from your mother’s illness and death. It’s caused you not to think straight.”</p><p>“I’m not too young to handle this, Dad. And don’t bring Mom into this, please, this has nothing to do with her.” Christen shrugged out of his grip and pivoted to face him again. “Dad, <em>please</em> listen to me. I know what I’m talking about!”</p><p>Richard’s face grew stony. “Christen. You don’t know what you’re saying.”</p><p>“I do. Dad, this isn’t the right business decision. And it’s just…not right. Morally.”</p><p>“Not right, morally?” Richard’s laugh was mirthless and cold. “You’re a child. Who are you to say that? Are you the final arbiter of good and evil? Besides, haven’t I let you donate millions of our dollars to your silly little causes over the years? Who are you to say that our family isn’t doing good in the world?”</p><p>“Try to spin it all you like,” Christen spat back at him, “child slave labor is not <em>good</em>—”</p><p>The slap was loud as a thundercrack. The force of the blow sent Christen stumbling backwards, hand pressed to her burning cheek.</p><p>“Daddy…” Christen whimpered, tears welling in her eyes. </p><p>Even Richard seemed shocked at his own action, standing frozen with his hand still raised. For a moment, he reached an arm out to her, trembling.</p><p>Christen flinched back, staring wide-eyed at him.</p><p>As she retreated, he did too. He stood up straight again, firmly adjusting the hem of his suit jacket. “I’m sorry, Christen,” he said formally. He didn’t meet her eye.</p><p>Something in Christen broke.</p><p>“You know what? Fuck you, Dad,” she spat. “What the hell do you think you’re doing with this company? Who the hell do you think you’re going to leave your legacy to? I am never, <em>never</em>, going to support you after this. And after Mal finds out, she won’t either.”</p><p>Richard’s eyes hardened. “I think you’re wrong about that.”</p><p>“I don’t,” Christen challenged. “You think we take after you? We don’t. We’re Mom’s daughters. <em>She</em> taught us to do the right thing.”</p><p>Richard froze, his hands gripping the side of the table. <em>Did I go too far, involving Mom in this?</em> Chirsten wondered.</p><p>“I…” Richard said slowly. “Christen, I am trying to teach my girls how to <em>survive</em>. I’ve always demanded more of you because I love you.”</p><p>“Can’t you see this is beyond survival?” Christen pleaded. “When did we become the villains?”</p><p>Richard let out a troubled sigh. “I hate that you see it that way, Christen. All I’ve ever done, every decision I’ve ever made, was to ensure your safety. And Mal’s, and your mothers. To ensure that you were taken care of, and that our family was successful.” He drummed his fingers on the desktop and stared off into the distance. “But perhaps you’re right. Perhaps…this is not what your mother would’ve wanted. Perhaps I’ve been leaning on Winston’s advice too much.”</p><p>Christen nodded, breathless and wide-eyed, barely daring to hope.</p><p>“Give me a night to think on this,” Richard said, looking disturbed. He was staring down at his hand, his reddened palm, where he’d just hit Christen. “It’s almost midnight. Let’s talk in the morning.”</p>
<hr/><p>Christen barely dared to hope.</p><p>But despite her best efforts, hope crept in. Even if her conscious mind didn’t register it, her unconscious mind did. For the first time in a long time, she slept peacefully, with no flashing nightmares of factories and little girls and gunshots. In her dreams, she heard her father’s voice, and Mal’s, and her own, mingling together in harmony. Perhaps creating a few future, for Press Electronics.</p><p>She woke later than expected.</p><p>She was walking from her room to the staircase, heading down to breakfast, when she barreled to a halt.</p><p>
  <em>Did I just see what I just saw?</em>
</p><p>Her heartbeat started pounding in her temples.</p><p>She doubled back, sprinting the few steps to Mal’s open door. Mal’s room was bare. The bed was neatly made, the desk was clear. All her clothes were gone. All her papers.</p><p>“Mal?” she called out. Her voice echoed, wavering and panicky, through the empty halls.</p><p>“Mal!” she screamed, even though she knew it was fruitless.</p><p>She heard footsteps behind her and whirled around. But instead of Mal, it was Richard ascending the staircase.</p><p>“Where’s Mal?” Christen demanded, voice shaking.</p><p>“Mal left for Tokyo last night.”</p><p>“Tokyo?!” Christen felt a little lightheaded. She wanted desperately to reach for the wall to support herself, but not for anything would she have given Richard—standing there pretending to be all serious, with a smug, victorious sparkle in his eye—the pleasure.</p><p>“She’s there for three years, to train.”</p><p>“And when was this decided?”</p><p>“Oh…” Richard shrugged. “Last night, after you went to bed.”</p><p>
  <em>The voices. </em>
</p><p>She had heard their voices in her dreams. But they hadn’t been dreams.</p><p>Her father had stolen Mal right out from under her, and she had slept through it.</p><p>Christen bit down on the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood.</p><p>“Don’t be jealous, Christen,” Richard said, sticking his hands in his pockets, an amused expression on his face. “You’ve had my attention for your life. Don’t you think it’s right that Mal gets this learning opportunity? She’s been in your shadow long enough.”</p><p>“That’s not why you sent her,” Christen snapped. “You sent her to separate us. But it won’t be done that easily.”</p><p>“Won’t it?” Richard raised an eyebrow. “You know, Christen, Mal’s not too happy with you. All these years, you’ve been keeping her excluded from the business, while pretending to be on her side…” He tsked his tongue condescendingly. “A little manipulative of you, don’t you think?”</p><p>Now Christen was really starting to grow light-headed.</p><p>“What. The <em>hell</em>. Are you talking about?”</p><p>Richard just smirked.</p><p>“Dad, you’re the one who’s never included her! You’re the one who’s always insulted her, and said she’s not ready—you used to call her an embarrassment! What kind of bullshit revisionist history is this?”</p><p>“Well, I think it’s the kind of bullshit revisionist history that Mal found highly convincing last night. Especially when I played for her a recording of you specifically asking me to prevent her from getting more involved.”</p><p>“Dad, I have <em>never</em>—”</p><p>Richard cleared his throat as he pulled out his phone.</p><p>
  <em>“What if I asked her to take on more on the supply chain side?”</em>
</p><p>The recording was of Richard’s voice, grainy but unmistakable.</p><p><em>“Why would you ask </em>Mal<em> to handle more on the supply chain side</em>?” That was Christen’s own voice, answering.</p><p>Her blood ran cold.</p><p>
  <em>“Well, Princess, you don’t seem very inclined to it.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“She can’t. Dad, you know she can’t. What are you thinking?! I’m trying to fix things for us—”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Is that a no? You don’t want Mal included?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“No! Of course not. Daddy, that’s crazy. We can’t get her involved in this.”</em>
</p><p>Richard hit stop. He seemed to relish watching the disbelief and horror playing in waves over Christen’s face.</p><p>“Dad…”</p><p>“I think you’ll find now that if you attempt to contact Mal in any way—by phone, or by any social media—we have some expert Press Electronics employees screening all her communications, and she has instructed them to block anything coming in from you.” Richard pocketed his phone again. “And she had some things she wanted me to pass on to you—”</p><p>“Daddy.” Christen pleaded. “Come on. Don’t do this.”</p><p>“—that she felt manipulated, so manipulated, at the way you promised her all these years that you were trying to get her involved, when really, you were going behind her back, begging me to shut her out. That I, her wise father, was right to warn her that you’d be jealous and insecure the more power she gained. That you’re the one responsible for keeping her on the outside all these years.”</p><p>“Are you fucking crazy?” Christen spat. “Fine. That’s fine. If you want to play this game, so can I. What if I just told everyone? What if I went to the media? She’d see it then in the news.”</p><p>
  <em>I could contact a reporter, or—put a blog post online, or—maybe I could reach back out to Pia; she’d know what to do—</em>
</p><p>Richard let out a barking, cynical laugh. “Who are you going to talk to, Christen? Jim at the LAPD? The feds? Bill Larson on the California Supreme Court? Peter Wilkes at the New York Times?”</p><p>Her heart sunk. She knew all those names. She knew them because they’d been wining and dining with these men for years. <em>They’re in Dad’s pocket. Of course</em>.</p><p>The weight of all that Press Electronics power, suddenly turned against her for the first time, almost knocked her to her feet.</p><p>“Anywhere you try to post these rumors online, I will catch them and take them down before anyone else can see. Anybody you try to tell, just know, my arm reaches longer than you can ever imagine. Your naivete is astounding. The world is a cruel place, and everyone who is anyone is in on the game, <em>except you</em>. They’ll report it back to me. Or…” Richard shrugged. “I can just make those people disappear. As if they never existed. So choose your battles wisely, Princess.”</p><p>Christen stood there, arms hanging limp by her side, trying to think of a retort.</p><p>“Oh, and—” Richard snapped his fingers. “Another thing. You don’t know how much Mal knows. What makes you think she isn’t already in on the supply chain issues, and that she’s just tougher than you are? I can tell you one thing, though. If news of the factories leaks, and…it just so happens to leak at the same time, that Mallory Press, daughter of Richard Press, was potentially involved in the leak…well, let’s just say, the militia down there will probably have little patience in dealing with your darling little sister in whatever way they think is best.”</p><p>“Dad, you can’t be serious. Mom <em>just</em> died.” Christen’s voice broke, and tears ran down her face. “You can’t do this to us. You can’t take Mal and me from each other! You can’t leave us all alone.”</p><p>“Oh, Princess. You’re not alone. You still have me.” Richard laid a hand on her shoulder. It was hard and heavy as a rock, and ice cold. “Let this be a warning to you, Christen. Whatever game you try to play? I’ll play it better. I hope you’ll give up this petty little vendetta of yours soon. Whenever you’re ready to play nice, I’ll welcome you back with open arms. And I’ll make sure Mal does, too. Until then…”</p><p>He turned on his heel and left her standing alone in the hallway, shaking with sobs.</p><p><em>I never even got to say goodbye to her</em>.</p>
<hr/><p>Christen took a few weeks just to wallow.</p><p>The slow, burning ache of missing her family nearly overwhelmed her—Mal, her mother, the person she used to think her father was.</p><p>She woke up every morning—not at the crack of dawn like she used to, but late, sometimes almost noon—and just lay in bed, staring at the ceiling far overhead. Sometimes she would lie there, too listless and heavy to sit up, until a dampness in the pillow under her cheek alerted her to the fact that she’d been crying silent tears.</p><p>She wandered through the hallways to her mother’s empty room. To Mal’s. Sometimes she looked out the window at the gardens and it felt like she was the only living soul for miles around.</p><p>Since the world didn’t know that Mal existed, yet, there was no way to track how she was doing in Tokyo. No way to know when she’d get back. Every day, Christen bitterly regretted the way she'd kept her distance from Mal all these years.<em> If I had been a better sister, if I had cared about her more, then Dad's lies wouldn't have been so believable</em>. Surely various board members knew of Mal's whereabouts and how she was doing, but now that Richard had succeeded in phasing Christen entirely out of the center of things, she couldn’t even ask.</p><p>(“She’s reeling after her mother’s death,” he had apparently told the board. “She’s had a bit of a nervous break.” <em>What bullshit. If there’s any nervous break happening, it’s directly caused by you.</em>)</p><p>One day, she had asked Gerald to drive her to the office, which he did, with sad, worried eyes peering at her in the rearview mirror. But when she arrived at the familiar back entrance, and tried to swipe for the elevator that took her up to the executive suites, she got an error message.</p><p>
  <em>Guess that’s the official sign that I’m locked out for good. </em>
</p><p>As the days wore on, she was drained. Exhausted. Unspeakably empty.</p><p>She sat huddled in a tiny ball next to her window, looking out at the Press estate grounds that had once seemed so vast and liberating. Now she realized it was just a trap. Those looming, armored walls weren’t just to keep intruders out. They were to keep secrets in.</p><p>She felt perpetually on edge, constantly on the tipping point of melting into nervous breakdown.</p><p>What parts of her were even functioning, still? She flexed her toes and bunched her fist, as if to check.</p><p>She could’ve put in more of an effort to fight her father. She knew that. She could’ve kept up the threats she made that day. She could’ve begged to be let back into the executive board meetings. She just couldn’t find the energy in her limbs.</p><p>She thought about her mother first thing in the morning, after opening her eyes. She thought about that look of haunted disappointment in her eyes.</p><p><em>Get out</em>, her mother had said. Those fake ID cards burned a hole in the pocket of the folded sweatshirt where she’d hidden them. <em>But how?</em></p><p>She thought about her mother and Mal, lying at night, sobbing until it was hard to breathe.</p><p>Her father seemed to almost take pity on her. It was a strange, distant pity—as if she were some wild animal who had wandered into his vicinity—but when he saw her, he was kind. He was kind in a pompous, victorious sort of way. He was happy he had broken her, she realized.</p><p>He thought she was defeated—because she was.</p><p>He thought she was harmless—because she was.</p><p>She sat slumped at her desk in her room, unable to conjure the energy to even lift forkfuls of food to her mouth, and laughed at the idea of the person she once was.</p><p>
  <em>This is what comes of hubris. How the mighty have fallen, eh?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>This is my penance. For not listening to Pia. For going on that trip. For not protecting that girl. For assuming I had more power than I actually had. For assuming I had any power at all. </em>
</p><p>“Princess,” her father called her.</p><p>Daddy’s little princess.</p><p>This entire time, her entire life, twenty-four long years, she’d been Rapunzel in her lonely tower.</p><p>She thought she’d had the power, but all along she’d been in chains.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>She was somewhere sunny. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>The sun was beating down overhead. It was scalding hot on the back of her neck; when she touched her hair, it seemed to singe her fingertips. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>The treetops all around her seemed to buzz with static. They blurred into the bright blue sky behind, came back into focus, blurred again. The dirt roads were stained, dark. The patter of children’s feet sounded far in the distance. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Then, suddenly rising in front of her, there was an enormous gray concrete building. The hulking structure stretched far into the sky—twenty stories, thirty, forty maybe. It seemed to stretch higher and higher, the longer she looked up at it. The windows had bars over them. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>And then she was behind one of those barred windows, looking out, out at the jungle treetops and the dirt roads. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Christen?” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>She turned around. She was in a bare concrete room, sunlight pouring in from the barred window and lighting the whole place up.  And with her there was a little girl with dark hair and eyes, a pink bandanna over her hair and a yellow apron, too big for her, wrapped around her body. She was tugging timidly at the hem of Christen’s suit jacket. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Hi, baby,” Christen said cautiously. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Are you here for me?”  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Yes, I’m here to get you,” Christen said hesitantly. She glanced over the girl’s shoulder. More children were crowding in the doorway, staring at her with the same wide eyes and solemn expression. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Are you here for all of us?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Yes,” she said, even more hesitantly. In her head, she was calculating how she was going to fit them all in her car. “Yes, I’m here for all of you.” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>In a second, the children were all around her. The girl had her arms tight around Christen’s stomach, almost cutting off her circulation, making her pant for breath. The other kids clustered tight, spilling into the room one after another until the room was overflowing, packed to the walls. The air was thin. Hands scrabbled against her thighs, her waist, her shoulders. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Wait, wait,” she panted, trying to twist herself free, frantically struggling to draw breath. “Wait, hold on, give me a second—”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>She was being pulled down. The bodies were starting to overwhelm her, blocking out the light. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>In the distance, she could hear the girl crying—</strong>
</p><p><strong> <em>Ayúdeme</em> </strong> <em>. <strong>Ayúdeme</strong>.<strong> Help me. Help me. </strong></em></p><p>
  <strong>And then they were all crying out. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Please, please, I want to help you,” she gasped, “Please, I can’t breathe—”</strong>
</p><p>She woke in a tangle of sweaty sheets, screaming.</p><p>She pulled herself from her blankets and stumbled through dark hallways down to the kitchen, where she poured a glass of water, downed it in one gulp, poured another glass of water, and cupped it in her shaking fingers.</p><p>She sat there for a while, thinking of those children and of all of the people in her life that she had failed.</p><p>She had failed absolutely everyone she had ever known.</p><p>As she sat there, the room began to grow lighter. She stood and moved to the window, watching the sunrise for the first time in months. She had almost forgotten how beautiful the morning could be. She leaned her forehead on the glass, and looked on as the sky turned peach and then pink and then pastel blue, and the fluffy clouds with fiery edges drifted and played against each other, and the entire world was bathed in a hushed golden glow.</p><p>And then she had a thought.</p><p>And the thought was, <em>You could still fight for them</em>.</p><p>She thought of Pia, her mom, Mal. She thinks of that little girl.</p><p><em>There’s got to be something I can do. There’s got to be something I can still fight for</em>.</p><p>There was a sudden fire, a tingling in her fingers and toes, that she hadn’t felt in months. Years, maybe.</p><p>
  <em>I can still fight. While I can breathe, I can still fight.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I don’t need to wait for him to fix things. I can fix things myself. </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>She took things slow.</p><p>She put on real clothes for the first time in months. She went back to work, in the lower levels, as Kristen Tyler.</p><p>(From a distance, her father seemed approving of this. Like he was thinking, <em>she knows her place</em>. Like he was thinking, <em>she’s trying to get back in my good graces, and I’m going to let her grovel a little</em>.)</p><p>She put her head down and consulted on menial business decisions.</p><p>She slept every night with terrifying nightmares, and woke every morning to wander the halls of Press Electronics like an aimless ghost, with no identify. No past, present, or future.</p><p>And she schemed, and schemed, and schemed.</p>
<hr/><p>There was only one data engineer she trusted, even remotely, to pull this off as seamlessly and silently  and untraceably as she needed. Of course, you couldn’t really trust anyone around here. Nobody in the building was entirely reliable. But this girl was the smartest engineer they had, and on top of that, she seemed like a good soul. She was probably as safe as you could get.</p><p>And while they were away from the building for this offsite conference, away from the prying eyes of the security cameras, this was going to be her only chance.</p><p>Christen waited until she saw the data engineer camped out in a dark corner of the hotel restaurant one day, tapping away on her laptop. She approached, took the seat opposite.</p><p>“Crystal Dunn, just the girl I was hoping to see.”</p><p>Crystal looked up, gave her a wide smile. “Well well well, Kristen Tyler, hey girl! I didn’t realize anyone from the business side was going to be at this conference.”</p><p>“Just a few of us. I was actually hoping to run into someone from your team. Can you do me a favor; pull some files for me for a meeting I’ve got this afternoon?”</p><p>“I gotchu, girl. What’s the search code?”</p><p>Wordlessly, trying to come off casual, Christen passed a Post-it with some scribbled numbers across the table. They were numbers she had been able to pull with her old security clout, months ago, when her relationship with her father had just started to sour.</p><p>The Post-it was stuck to a small, plain black external hard drive, which she had purchased at a convenience store the other day.</p><p>Crystal took the paper, looked at it breezily, plugged it into her laptop. Frowned. Looked harder at the paper, then, slowly, looked across the table at Christen.</p><p>Christen could feel her heartbeat ramming in her throat, her stomach, her fingertips, her skull.</p><p>She knew that the search code wouldn’t tell Crystal what files she was pulling. <em>Communications with militia leaders. Legal strategy memos about mitigating fallout from human rights abuses.</em> <em>Spreadsheets of factory death tolls. Proof. </em>But the location of the files alone was going to be eyebrow raising.</p><p>“What is this meeting for, exactly?” Crystal asked slowly.</p><p>“It’s…” Christen put on an apologetic smile. “Non-disclosable, unfortunately. If we were back at the office, I’d pull the numbers myself, but I don’t have the equipment here for it.” (The truth was that her father had cut off access from her machines a while ago. Besides, she wasn’t an expert. If she pulled the files herself, she would leave an electronic trail. They’d catch her immediately.) “I know you could do it, though. Discreetly, obviously, given its nature. We can’t have it traced that we even pulled this.”</p><p>“I…I’ll try, but I don’t even know if I can reach them. I’ve never seen firewalls like this…” Crystal’s voice trailed off as she looked dubiously down at her screen. “Do you have any other access codes? That could help this go faster.”</p><p>“I do.” Which she had memorized off of Winston Ashby’s screen years ago, when he had left his laptop open in a conference room, like the idiot he was. She recited it to Crystal. Crystal, still frowning a little, tapped it in, raised her eyebrows in surprise as the code was accepted. She plugged the hard drive into her laptop.</p><p>Feverishly watching the little white light on the hard drive blink as data was ported over, Christen felt like she was about to pass out.</p><p>“How’s the coffee here?” she said in a voice that seemed like it was coming from somewhere out of body. “I got one of the muffins yesterday morning, but it was so dry. Disappointing.”</p><p>Crystal answered. Christen answered back. She had no clue what words she was saying.</p><p>When she walked out of the hotel fifteen minutes later with her heart in her throat, tucked at the bottom of her purse was a hard drive that contained enough proof to bring down her father’s entire empire. And her whole family with it.</p><p>She didn’t know, yet, what she could do with it. But the important thing was that she had it.</p>
<hr/><p>She took to carrying the hard drive around with her constantly.</p><p>When she slept, she slept with it under her pillow. When she moved, she stashed it in a new purse she bought, with a false bottom.</p><p>She shopped a lot.</p><p>She knew Richard knew, and she let him know. Every time she walked in the door with crisp, shiny paper bags full of designer clothes, he gave her this simpering, patronizing smile.</p><p><em>You’re starting to think of me the way you used to think of Mom,</em> she realized. <em>A useless ornament. A plaything, to keep occupied with trivialities.</em></p><p>What Richard didn’t know was that she’d sneak out while he was at work and return everything, for cash.</p><p>She stashed the bills, in hundreds, in the purse that never left her side.</p><p>She knew that Gerald had been tasked with keeping an eagle eye on her. She pitied him. If he didn’t report her whereabouts to her father, day by day, he’d be fired.</p><p>She pitied herself, too. She was careful not to visit anywhere too risky. Sometimes she went back to the old museums and art galleries she used to love. She stood in front of the abstract art pieces, soaking it all in. Using her dad’s name, she got into the Griffith Observatory after closing hours, staring up at the stars, wishing that her life had turned out differently.</p><p>It was odd, she realized, the futility she felt. She was only twenty-four. She knew, objectively, that she was young. That she had a theoretical life ahead of her.</p><p>But all she felt was emptiness. When she tried to think about her future, there was nothing there but a void. All she felt was darkness, in shades of white and gray and black, seeping out of all the cracks in her life.</p><p>(Except for her nightmares, which overwhelmed her every night, shrieking in vivid technicolor.)</p><p>If her father caught her—if he got wind of what she was doing—would he kill her?</p><p>Would he just make her disappear? Would he lock her up somewhere to rot?</p><p>She wouldn’t put it past him.</p><p>So she stared into the whirling haze of abstract art at museums, and soaked in the view of the stars from the observatory, and thought, almost nonchalantly—<em>well, if I die, I suppose I die. </em></p>
<hr/><p>There were things she had to do, to prepare. Things she didn’t want Gerald reporting. One day, sitting in the back of the car, getting driven to some art exhibit opening, she took a risk. She went out on a limb.</p><p>“Gerald?”</p><p>“Yes, Ms. Christen?”</p><p>“Do you…” Christen took a deep breath. “You have to go everywhere I go, right?”</p><p>Gerald looked at her with wide, terrified eyes. “Ms. Christen. I mean…yes. Your father asked me to…I mean…” He faltered. “It’s my job to take care of you.”</p><p>There was silence in the car for a while. Christen sighed. She watched as the freeway flashed by.</p><p>She didn’t have a concrete plan yet. She didn’t have a real aim, real goals. But she knew that—if she ever wanted to get anything done—there were things she needed that she currently didn’t have.</p><p>Gerald pulled into a parking spot downtown near the gallery. Christen was just heading off, down the sidewalk, in her high heels, when she heard her name being called.</p><p>She turned. Gerald had gotten out of the car, and was standing by his driver side door, staring at her, haunted.</p><p>“It looks like…” Gerald’s gaze was intense, almost a little frightening. “It looks like the battery on the car has, uh, died. I should go and get it fixed.”</p><p>“Yeah.” Christen swallowed. “I think that sounds like a great idea, Gerald.”</p><p>“I may be at the dealer’s for about three hours.”</p><p>“Three hours. Got it.” Christen nodded. “Thanks, Gerald. Thank you.”</p><p>“Don’t thank me for keeping the car running, that’s just part of my job.”</p><p>Christen was just turning to go when Gerald added, “And Miss Christen?” When she looked over her shoulder, he said, “Other than this, the car is in…great shape. I probably won’t have an opportunity to take it to the dealer’s again. You understand?”</p><p>Christen nodded again. There was so much adrenaline coursing through her body that her neck felt a little stiff, like it was frozen in place, so she could only manage the tiniest tilt of her head. <em>Three hours. I’ve got three hours</em>.</p><p>“Thanks, Gerald,” she said. “I’ll meet you here in three hours, then.”</p><p>She scoped out the neighborhood. There was a long stretch of residential housing with no security cameras. If she could give her driver the slip, she could catch an Uber from that block. Catch it to any used car dealership an hour away. Pay for a car in cash.</p><p>She slipped into an Apple store, a baseball cap pulled low over her head, and bought an iPhone and phone plan in cash. (Press Electronics couldn’t hack devices from Apple, their primary rival. She knew, because she had presided over many meetings describing how hard they were trying.)</p><p> And at last, at long last, she slipped into a crowded coffeeshop in downtown LA, deafeningly noisy, and barricaded herself in the bathroom. A single room with a sturdy, heavy door.</p><p>She picked up her new phone and dialed a number she had long ago memorized.</p><p>It rang. It rang once, twice, three times.</p><p>She prayed and felt tears building in her eyes and clenched the phone in her fingers so hard that her knuckles ached.</p><p>A click.</p><p>“Hello?”</p><p>Christen stopped breathing.</p><p>There was a voice. And in the background, more voices. Women’s voices, many of them, like there was a party going on. Christen had forgotten that the concept of parties even existed, that there were people, in her universe—in her time zone!—had things called <em>friends</em>, who they met at things called <em>parties</em>.</p><p>“Hello? Anybody there?”</p><p>Christen cleared her throat. She had to say something now. This was her one opportunity. One last gift from Gerald.</p><p>“…Pia?” she whispered uncertainly.</p><p>The voice on the other line audibly gasped, and there was a crash, as if something was dropped.</p><p>But she knew it was Pia, because a voice on the other end was saying, in the background, “Pia? Are you all right?”</p><p>“Yes!” She heard Pia’s voice saying. “Yes, sorry, I was just trying to hold my phone and my plate at the same time—it’s my doctor—I’m going to take this in another room—”</p><p>The background noise faded, like the phone was being carried away. Christen heard short gasps, as if Pia was rushing.</p><p>There was that voice in the background again, asking in a low, gravely tone, “Pia, are you sure you’re all right? You had that numbness in your arm yesterday—”</p><p><em>Get out, whoever you are!</em> Christen pleaded internally. <em>I need to talk to Pia alone!</em></p><p>“Yes, Tobin, I’m fine, just give me a second,” Pia said. Christen tuned whatever she was saying out. She couldn’t process anything except for the most basic facts: <em>I’m talking to Pia. I’m actually speaking with Pia. Pia can hear the words that I’m saying.</em></p><p>It had been years and years.</p><p>There was the sound of a door slamming shut.</p><p>“Christen?!” Pia whispered.</p><p>“Pia…” Christen started, and all of a sudden, she found herself sobbing.</p><p>It took a few minutes before she pulled herself together enough to start talking. In the following days, she couldn’t even quite remember what she had rambled on about.</p><p><em>I don’t know what to do,</em> she cried into the phone, or something along those lines, <em>but I knew I had to call you.</em></p><p>
  <em>If I don’t make it out—if I die, or if I just disappear, and you never hear from me again—just know that I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I should’ve listened to you. You were right about everything. I should’ve listened to everything you said. </em>
</p><p>And Pia had hushed her, and soothed her, and said (in a voice that Christen could tell, even after all these years, was frightened—that Pia was fighting to keep steady and calm and reassuring):</p><p>
  <em>Now, now, child. There’s no need for hysterics. We won’t have any dying here today, not on my watch.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Whenever you’re ready, you can always come find me. You could teach Spanish here, or coach soccer, or just lie on my couch all day—the way you used to, remember? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Where I am, there will always be a place for you. </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>The window came, just months later, like a gift from heaven or hell. Almost before she was ready.</p><p>First, Gerald called out sick. A stomach flu, a horrific one, dragging on for weeks. His temporary replacement was a stammering, hunched-over youth, one that blushed bright red whenever Christen looked straight at him.</p><p>Then there were problems at one of their Asian chip manufacturing plants, and Richard decided to fly out. A 23-hour direct flight. Flights didn’t agree so well with Richard. He’d probably be asleep for most of it, giving her just enough of a getaway window.</p><p>It helped that he had, by now, completely written her off. The other day, when she walked through the front doors with her arms laden with Gucci bags, he had literally given her a little pat on the head, like she was a lap dog. He thought her spirit had been broken. His rage, when (<em>if</em>) she pulled this off, would be uncontainable. He'd send the whole force of his armies against her.</p><p>Off the estate grounds, Christen ducked into the same bustling coffee shop and placed a call to Pia.</p><p><em>I’ll be there by the end of the week,</em> she said. <em>I don't have a game plan, and I don't know how long I'll be able to stay, but I know I need to leave. Now or never.</em> </p><p>Pia had given her an address to memorize in Barberry Stone, Oregon. <em>Come see me first thing, and we’ll get you all settled in.</em></p><p>Her hands shook as she hung up the phone.</p><p>She sought out her jumpy new driver that night. When she entered the room, he leapt up and spilled his coffee all down the front of his shirt. She pretended not to notice. She said she wanted to bring some clothes to the women’s shelter downtown, to donate.</p><p>She brought two suitcases that night; taking them from the car herself and dragging them into the shelter, by way of the alley entrance. The driver was puzzled at her insistence; watched her carefully, coming and going.</p><p>Two suitcases the second night.</p><p>Two suitcases the third night. And the fourth night. And the driver stopped waiting. Stopped watching.</p><p>And on the fifth night, heart pounding wildly, fingers shaking, Christen wheeled two suitcases into the alley, with an extra gray purse over her shoulder.</p><p>Past the shelter entrance. </p><p>Out the other side of the alley, to a waiting Uber, which sped silently off into the night.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Because Christen (and myself) speak Spanish, and not Chinese, I set the factory scenes in a Spanish speaking setting for narrative coherence. However, they're really based on the Chinese government's internment and forced labor of Uighurs, which many major corporations like Apple, Nike, and Amazon use for parts. If you have a minute (after resting for a sec after reading this entire 18,000 word chapter), I would really urge you to take a look at the further reading below, which provides a thorough and horrifying overview:</p><p> </p><p>  <a> Uyghurs For Sale: ‘Re-education’, forced labour and surveillance beyond Xinjiang </a><br/><a> Against Their Will: The Situation in Xinjiang </a><br/><a> U.S. takes aggressive steps against China for forcing Uighurs into labor </a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for all the beautiful comments on the last chapter!</p><p>I am so grateful for each and every one of you readers &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“We’re going away for Valentine’s Day, and ‘no’ is not an acceptable answer.”</p><p>Christen cast Pinoe a confused glance across Ali’s kitchen table. “I’m sorry, <em>we’re</em> going away for Valentine’s Day?”</p><p>“Yep.” Pinoe tilted her chair back and downed the rest of her wine glass in one swoop. Christen didn’t bother pointing out the way that Pinoe’s chair legs had started to wobble precariously. She had learned that Pinoe lived on the edge, in all ways.</p><p>“Uh…” Christen frowned down at her own whiskey glass, which was sitting securely on the tabletop, just like the four legs of her chair were sitting securely on the floor. “I’m, uh, I mean, the two of us?” She fumbled awkwardly. “What about…Sue?” Pinoe had now started making multiple trips a week into the city to see the busy attorney. (She had hired Sonnett and Sam to watch her vintage clothing store in her absence, which Christen was not entirely sure was a wise move.) “And, uh, not like I don’t think you’re cool, Pinoe, but…uh, I’m not really interested—”</p><p>Pinoe and Ashlyn cackled with laughter, and Ali, coming around the kitchen island with a charcuterie board, rolled her eyes.</p><p>“Stop messing with her, Pinoe! She doesn’t mean the two of you, Chris,” Ali said, taking the seat beside Christen. “We have this tradition where all our friends go away for a big cabin weekend for Valentine’s Day. Years ago, Alex found this amazing mountaintop resort, and we all just spontaneously decided to do it. It started before Ashlyn and I started dating, but we still go anyway. It’s tradition!”</p><p>“I’m bringing Sue,” Pinoe added, her eyes sparkling.</p><p>Christen hesitated, warmth blooming in her chest—whether from the whiskey or from the invite, she wasn’t certain. “And you want me to go? With all of you? Really?”</p><p>“<em>Christen</em>.” Ashlyn reached out and grabbed Christen’s hands in hers. “Why is it so hard for you to just accept that literally everyone in the universe is in love with you? Please, for the love of God, please grace us with your presence.”</p><p>Christen reddened at the compliment, looking down into her lap. There were so many reasons not to go on this trip. For one, the fact that she made a regular habit of waking up screaming from nightmares. For two, the fact that she didn’t love the idea of leaving the hard drive alone in the house for an entire weekend.</p><p>And for three…Tobin wasn’t home yet.</p><p>And though it was utterly, insanely irrational, a part of her worried about what would happen if Tobin happened to arrive that weekend. What if she made it home safe from California, and showed up at Christen’s door, looking for her? What if the house was dark? What if Christen wasn’t there to receive her?</p><p>Tobin had been gone for well over a month now. Texts were still sporadic and inconclusive about when she might come back. Part of that was the uncertainty of dealing with the forest fires, but Christen also knew that part of that was just Tobin’s personality. Christen knew she couldn’t waste her days waiting around fruitlessly for Tobin to show up. Not now, not that she had spent the last month hanging out with Pinoe, Ali, and Ashlyn almost every day, now that she was finally making progress on making the real friends she’d spent her whole life craving.</p><p><em>So cut it out, and stop pining, and start living</em>, she instructed herself. <em>Don’t be pathetic</em>.</p><p>“There are a bunch of separate cabins, all spaced out,” Ali said. As usual, she seemed to have an uncanny knack for looking at Christen and predicting what the worry was. “So if you want your privacy, you’ll have it.”</p><p>“Yeah, Ali and I definitely wouldn’t go if we didn’t have a separate cabin where nobody could hear us—<em>ow!</em>” Ashlyn cut off as Ali elbowed her hard in the ribs. Christen cackled. That’s what she loved about Ali—motherly one minute, vicious the next.</p><p>“And if cost is a factor,” Ali added, “please don’t let it be, I’d be more than happy to—”</p><p>“Yeah, I’ll go,” Christen decided, cutting Ali off. Cost was, in fact, not a factor at all. “Why not? Let’s do it.”</p><p>“<em>Let’s fucking do it!</em>” Pinoe reached for the wine bottle, now that her glass was empty, and clanked the bottle against Christen’s whiskey. “It’s going to be a blast, Chris. I guarantee you. There’s SO much food, and we drink the entire weekend, and we play games, and there’s this fireplace, and this hot tub…”</p><p>As Pinoe described the scene, Christen actually felt herself getting excited. <em>Maybe this’ll be fun</em>, she thought. <em>Maybe it won’t be so bad. Maybe I might even stop having nightmares for a night. </em></p><p>
  <em>I’ll just bring the hard drive with me. And nothing will go wrong.  </em>
</p><p>She clinked her glass against Pinoe’s outstretched bottle and downed the rest of her whiskey, to the sound of the girls’ cheers.</p><p>Cars swooped into the high school parking lot the Friday before Valentine’s Day to pick her up, along with the other teachers. It appeared that this annual tradition was common knowledge among the students, and some of them—Sonnett, mostly—made a big deal of begging to come along. Kelley strutted around and rubbed it in the students’ faces. Meanwhile, Alyssa, covering her face, dove into the back of Pinoe’s sedan as if the weekend couldn’t come soon enough.</p><p>Christen quickly nabbed the seat beside Alyssa, grateful as always for her quiet, calming presence, with Pinoe and Sue in the front. It was a two hour drive up to the cabins. They chatted for a little while, but after a long week of teaching, Alyssa soon dozed off in the back. Pinoe and Sue were soon deep in a soft, endearing conversation about something having to do with Sue’s family, so Christen put in her headphones and peered out the window.</p><p>The scenery was stark and cold and glorious. Snow had fallen earlier that week, and the mountains they drove through were blanketed in a soft, thick sheen of white. The music in her ears thrums, joyful but muted.</p><p>
  <em>Sleep don't visit, so I choke on sun,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And the days blur into one.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And the backs of my eyes hum with things I've never done.</em>
</p><p>Pinoe and Sue’s voices murmured in the distance as if from a world away. The car’s heater was on high, lulling her into a strange, muted tranquility. The windows were fogging around the edges. Staring out of the window at the beautiful hills rolling by, the way they undulated softly against the backdrop of the ice blue sky, Christen felt a deep-rooted calm settle over her body. The music swelled, grand and heartbreaking, in her ears, as the singer crooned,</p><p>
  <em>Welcome home…</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Home…</em>
</p><p>Once upon a time, a weekend like this was all she could ever have hoped for. Time spent free, in nature. Out in the wild air, amidst the mountains. Away with friends—with girls who liked her and trusted her, and whom she liked and trusted. Girls who loved her just as she was, just as a shy, small-town high school teacher.</p><p><em>I’m not Christen Press anymore, I’m just Kristen Channing, for this one beautiful weekend</em>, <em>at home with her friends,</em> she thought.</p><p>The idea of such freedom suddenly went to her head. In an abrupt, wild rush of joy, she rolled the window all the way down and stuck her head out into the freezing wind.</p><p>Pinoe and Sue turned around, wide-eyed but amused, and Alyssa woke up shivering and staring as wind whipped through the inside of the car.</p><p>“<em>Woohooo!</em>” Christen whooped out the window, just for the sheer thrill of it.</p><p>Pinoe, always down for some chaos, laughed gleefully and screamed along with her and slammed the horn as they shot down the long mountain road. From the car behind them, Christen heard Moe laying on the horn too. The noise echoed off the silent, dense forest around them. Sue threw her head back and laughed, and Alyssa blinked, reproachful but amused, at Christen.</p><p>Retracting her torso back into the car, her hair now windblown and curly around her wind-reddened face, Christen raised the window again and cleared her throat. “Sorry,” she said, trying to look serious but unable to contain the smile on her face, her heart still beating wildly. “I don’t know what got into me.”</p><p>“Are you kidding? Don’t apologize! That’s exactly the spirit we need!” Pinoe hooted. “Chris, this weekend is going to be a blast!”</p><p>The sky was just starting to turn pink-tinged around the edges, at the tops of the far-off mountains, when the road narrowed to a small pass that wound between the bare trees. Their little caravan followed the fresh tire tracks of other vehicles up the road, until they emerged into a clearing where a bunch of other cars were already parked.</p><p>Christen caught her breath as she stepped out of the car, her boots crunching in the snow. There was a large wooden a-frame lodge with a commanding view of the hills. Through the windows, Christen spied fluffy sofas in front of a roaring fireplace, and on the porch off to the side, there was the hot tub Pinoe had talked about. Scattered amidst the surrounding trees were little one-room cabins, cozy and cute.</p><p>“It’s <em>so</em> wonderful,” she breathed to Pinoe.</p><p>“Isn’t it?” Pinoe said affectionately. Taking advantage of the fact that Sue was pulling their suitcases from the trunk, Pinoe latched onto Christen’s arm and whispered, “I can’t wait to fuck Sue in that cabin, right over there—”</p><p>“<em>Pinoe!</em>” Christen pulled away, scandalized, but finding herself laughing all the same. </p><p>“Christen, I love you, you innocent little angel,” Pinoe laughed, pinching Christen’s cheeks in her fingers before skipping over to help Sue with the suitcases.</p><p>It appeared that all the girls had their “usual” cabins. Kelley and Alex were already laying claim to the one that was largest and closest to the main lodge, and Pinoe was dragging Sue to the one she’d just pointed out to Christen. Christen slung her bag over her shoulder—after checking with deft fingers to feel the outline of the hard drive in the front pocket—and awkwardly hovered in the back, waiting to see which cabin was left over.</p><p>“If you want, you can take Julie’s old cabin.” Perhaps sensing her discomfort, Ashlyn had come up behind Christen. She pointed towards a wide path that sloped slightly downwards, into the woods. “She decided not to come this year because she’s married now. Lame, right? Moe still comes! Anyway, it’s a little far from the others, though, kind of on the side of the mountain.”</p><p>“Julie’s sounds great,” Christen said. Far from everyone else? On the edge of things? <em>Perfect</em>.</p><p>Christen took a moment to look around, smiling, at the sight of all the girls bustling excitedly in and out of their respective cabins, already shrieking with laughter and yelling jokes back and forth. She slung her backpack onto her shoulder and headed towards the wooded path as Ali called out for everyone to hear, “Dinner in the lodge in an hour!” The path took a small turn, obscuring the sight of all the other cabins, but opening up a glorious view over the hazy purple hills, with the sun setting in the distance. She could see a lone cabin in the distance, with a stone bench halfway down the path, overlooking the hills. Christen let out a happy little gasp and stopped short in her tracks. She couldn’t wait to sit out on that bench alone after dinner and soak in the view.</p><p>
  <em>I bet the stars are super bright out here. </em>
</p><p>As she walked on, there was a rustling in the thicket of trees by the cabin. Christen tensed up, grasping her bag straps nervously.</p><p>From among the rustling trees, someone stepped out onto the path.</p><p>It was Tobin.</p><p>Tobin, in the flesh. Tobin, here in Oregon.</p><p>She was wearing a long, puffy black coat, a gray beanie over her messy waves. Her hair was a little longer than Christen recalled, her face a little thinner. She was whistling to herself, staring contentedly out over the hills, not looking up the path towards Christen.</p><p>The sight of her was so stunning, so miraculous, that Christen lost the ability to move. She stood with her legs rooted into the dirt path like tree trunks, just waiting for Tobin to glance up and see her.</p><p>And then, still about fifteen feet away, she did.  </p><p>“Chris?” Tobin barreled to a halt, eyes widening.</p><p>“Hi,” Christen breathed out, not quite trusting her voice to handle anything louder.</p><p>“Chris,” Tobin repeated, and god, had anything ever sounded sweeter than the sound of that little nickname falling from Tobin’s lips? Had anything ever looked better than the way a slow, excited smile was starting to spread over Tobin’s face, replacing her shocked expression, the way a sunrise replaces the faintness of pre-dawn?</p><p>“Yeah,” Christen, dimly registering that she was perhaps the world’s dumbest conversationalist right now. She cleared her throat, still not quite sure whether she was about to race the few steps down the path and fling herself into Tobin’s arms. “I can’t believe—I mean—what are you doing here?”</p><p>Tobin laughed. She started walking again, climbing up the incline towards Christen. The snow crunched beneath her boots. “Finally got word yesterday that we were free to go. I called Ashlyn to figure out the details and drove straight here. Beat you guys here, so I decided to wander around a bit.”</p><p>She paused, then shot a hopeful, shy smile towards Christen. “I was sort of hoping I’d run into you first.”</p><p>Tobin was removing her hands from her coat pockets, and they looked almost spread, like she was coming in for a hug. And Christen unrooted her legs, and with a tingling in her feet, was about to run towards her—</p><p>“<em>Tobin!?!</em>”                                                                                                                                                  </p><p>The shriek from Kelley, standing at the top of the path, echoed off the surrounding trees and immediately set off a cascade of chaos. Other voices screamed. Footsteps pounded towards them as everyone came running.</p><p>Frozen once again, Christen stood uncertainly as Kelley sprinted right past her and launched herself onto Tobin’s shoulders.</p><p>“You made it!” Ashlyn boomed as she joined them, and Ali was getting a little teary, and Pinoe was hollering about what a good surprise it was, and the moment was over. Christen hugged herself against the cold and stood awkwardly by as everyone clustered around Tobin—bees to their returning queen.</p><p>“Okay, Tobes, I was just telling Alex in the car that we wouldn’t be able to do our normal drunk ping pong tournament, but we can! We have to do it literally right now—Moe, Alex, come on—and grab the beers—”</p><p>“Uh, hold on a second,” Tobin started to say, but Kelley was already latched onto her arm, dragging her up the slope.</p><p>“It has to be now,” Alex agreed, not looking in Christen’s direction. “Before Ashlyn starts the drinking games and the ping pong table gets all sticky.”</p><p>Ali cast Christen a worried look. Christen wanted nothing more than to run up to Tobin, wrest her out of Kelley’s grasp, and announce to the whole group, <em>No, I want Tobin all to myself.</em> But insecurity held her back. What if Tobin wasn’t thinking the same thing? After all, this was an annual tradition for her, here with all her people. She probably wanted to be the life of the party, playing ping pong and getting wasted with her best friends.</p><p>Not hanging out with Christen, who couldn’t manage to string five words together to greet her.</p><p>And then it was too late, and Tobin was already out of sight, surrounded by the gabbing pack.</p><p>Probably noticing Christen’s crestfallen expression, Ali came over and whispered, “I’m sure you’ll get a chance to talk to her alone later.”</p><p>Ashlyn came up on Christen’s other side and draped a comforting arm over her shoulder. “I’d say there’s <em>much</em> more than a chance you’ll get to talk to her alone later. You want to know a secret?”</p><p>“Yeah?” Christen turned to her with round eyes.</p><p>Ashlyn lowered her voice. “So Tobin calls me yesterday and says she’s coming back. It’s Valentine’s Day weekend, so I’m like, just meet us at the cabins. But the first question she asked me was, <em>Is Christen going</em>?”</p><p>Christen tried to control the way her heart was racing out of control. “Oh?”</p><p>Ashlyn winked. “I guarantee that if I’d told her you were staying in Barberry Stone, she would’ve headed straight there.”</p><p>“Oh.” Christen felt a warmth spreading through her body. She couldn’t keep from smiling. “Okay.”</p><p>“Oh, okay? That’s all you’re going to say?” Pinoe teased.</p><p>Christen just grinned down at her feet. She felt a little overwhelmed. “I’m just going to, uh, unpack,” she said, turning and heading off towards the cabin.</p><p>“I can’t believe Chris didn’t immediately jump her bones!” She heard Pinoe whining as she walked off.</p><p>“Chris isn’t like you two morons, she’s <em>sensitive</em>,” Ali said. “Give her a second to breathe.”</p><p>“Plus, Kelley ruined everything, like she always does,” Ashlyn grumbled. “She couldn’t have waited five more minutes before screaming Tobin’s arrival to the universe?”</p><p>Christen let herself into the little cabin at the bottom of the slope. The door opened into a narrow, dark entryway. She dropped her bag, leaned her forehead against the back of the door, and took a second to just gulp a couple deep breaths. <em>Okay. Okay, change of plans</em>. Tobin was back.</p><p>Back with no warning, and they were at a weekend getaway with all their crazy friends, and Christen had no idea what to say to her.</p><p>The last time they talked, Tobin had said all these sweet, beautiful things to her. She’d said, “I just want to be with you, Chris.” She’d said, “If you want me to wait, I’ll wait.” She said, “Just give the idea of us a chance.”</p><p>(She had also said, “I know you’re a good person,” which was just objectively incorrect.)</p><p>And Christen had spent over a month agonizing over her answer. So what <em>did</em> she want? Now that Tobin was standing here in front of her, eyes hopeful and Christen’s name on her lips, what would Christen ask for?</p><p>Like an idiot, she had put off thinking about the decision while Tobin was gone. It had just been too painful—and felt too fragile, too uncertain—to think seriously about it. But now Tobin was back, and Christen was still teetering precariously in the middle of this decisional see-saw, terrified to move a single inch in one direction or another.</p><p>On the one hand, she knew what she wanted—she wanted to fall into the warm circle of Tobin’s arms and never leave it. She wanted to kiss Tobin on those pouty, chapped lips. She wanted to watch from, a whisper away, the way the sun played against the brown of Tobin’s eyes, making them glow like golden honey from the inside out, and she wanted to do that for the rest of her life.</p><p>But there were other things she wanted. She wanted Tobin to be safe and happy. She wanted Tobin to live a simple, easy, uncomplicated life with a simple, easy, uncomplicated person.</p><p>
  <em>And if I can’t give that to her, wouldn’t it be selfish to keep her? </em>
</p><p>A horrible, cowardly corner of her heart almost wished Tobin would just go off and fall in love with someone else, maybe some badass, hotshot California firefighter, and take the decision entirely out of Christen’s hands. Christen would be crushed, of course. She’d harbor this fiery, all-consuming longing for Tobin for the rest of her life.</p><p>But at least Tobin would be safe.</p><p>She could hear the distant sound of her friends’ voices as they began migrating over to the main house. Finally resigning herself to the fact that she wasn’t going to figure this out with her head against the door in the next five minutes—and comforting herself with the knowledge that Tobin had, in fact, told her that she could take months, as long as she needed, to make a final decision—she let out a groan and pulled herself to an upright position. She turned around and trudged the few steps from the dark entryway into the hall that led to the rest of the cabin.</p><p>In spite of herself, she felt her spirits rising. The little cabin was super simple—there was a king bed, made up with fluffy white blankets and pillows, in the middle of the wood-walled room. Wide windows, with a low, cozy window seat, looked out over the hills. Christen knew that if she even sat down on that incredibly tempting bed right now, there was no way she’d make it to dinner that night. So she just tucked her backpack into a dark corner of the closet, made sure that the windows and doors were firmly locked, and trekked back up the hill.  </p><p>As she walked up to the porch of the lodge, she could already hear the party in full swing. Inside, there was a group crowded into the tiny kitchen, working on dinner. More girls were gathered in the living room, attempting to get the fireplace going. Raucous screams and the sound of ricocheting ping pong balls were coming from a third room somewhere down the hallway.</p><p>Though the very thought of Tobin existing in that building with her set the hair on Christen’s arms on end, she stubbornly resisted the magnetic pull towards the ping pong room. Instead, she joined the living room crowd, laughing along as Pinoe stubbornly tried to light the fire herself, ignoring all of Sue’s very patient, very correct advice.</p><p>There was no chance all night to get close to Tobin. By the time the ping pong crowd finally emerged from their room, tipsy and laughing and arguing heatedly about who’d won what, the other girls had already started eating. Christen, sandwiched between Ali and Sue on the sofa, looked up and made fleeting eye contact with Tobin for a second, but then Alex swooped in and dragged Tobin off to the kitchen.</p><p>Apparently Alex and Tobin had made up after Alex’s bad behavior before Tobin left for the wildfires, Christen thought sulkily.</p><p>
  <em>Tobin’s too nice. I would’ve held a grudge for MUCH longer. </em>
</p><p>“Tobin,” Moe asked as dinner was wrapping up, “where are you going to sleep tonight?”</p><p>Tobin shrugged, taking another bite of her chicken wing. Christen, suddenly feeling like every eye in the room was on her <em>except</em> Tobin’s, pretended to be very focused on calmly capturing the last wilted salad leaf on her plate with her fork.</p><p>“All the cabins are currently claimed, but I’m sure someone wouldn’t mind sharing,” Pinoe said, with a suggestive eyebrow raise.</p><p>“Oh my god, slumber party with me and Alex—<em>shit!</em>” Kelley broke off mid-sentence as Ashlyn, standing up, tipped Kelley’s drink off the table and onto Kelley’s lap.</p><p>“Oh, sorry, my bad,” Ashlyn said, not sounding sorry at all.</p><p>As Kelley, sputtering, charged back to her cabin to change into dry pants, Christen took advantage of the chaos to sneak a glance at Tobin. They made eye contact again for a second, but Tobin’s face was hard to read. Christen couldn’t tell if she was angry that Christen wasn’t immediately volunteering to have her stay. Pinoe, Ashlyn, and Ali were also very obviously waiting for her to say something.</p><p>But how could she, with the nightmares, and the screaming?</p><p>“I’m fine in here, really,” Tobin announced after another extended beat of silence, in her usual laidback way, sending her easy smile around the circle. “I’ll grab a spare pillow and blanket from the closet and sleep on the couch. I joined super last minute, anyway. Besides, I like the fireplace.”</p><p>After dinner, Tobin started doing the dishes with Alyssa after dinner. Christen thought about joining them—maybe she could sneak in a quiet moment with Tobin—but then Ashlyn grabbed her to play a round of beer pong. When she finally got back to the living room, Tobin and Alex were chatting with Sue by the fireplace. Alex glanced up at Christen, and then conspicuously scooted closer to Tobin.</p><p><em>So that’s a no to joining them, then</em>.  </p><p>Christen’s eyes were starting to droop, and the thought of cuddling into that fluffy white bed was sounding better and better. Christen finally saw her chance at escape when it looked like Alyssa was heading out. Casting one last lingering glance back at where Tobin was still talking with Alex and Sue, Christen hurried to the door and slipped out the door beside Alyssa.</p><p>She was already ready for bed—face washed, teeth brushed, pajamas on—when she went to set her alarm and realized that, in her rush to depart, she’d left her phone up in the lodge. Gritting her teeth against the cold, mentally berating herself for being so forgetful, she threw her coat on over her pajamas and trudged back up to the lodge. The lights in the cabins were already all aglow, and sleepy voices drifted through the night.</p><p>When she approached the lodge, she touched her bare face self-consciously. She wasn’t used to being seen in public without her makeup carefully done—and in her pajamas, to boot. But when she silently slipped through the door, it looked deserted. Not even Tobin was inside. <em>Perfect</em>, Christen thought, <em>maybe she went to hang out in someone else’s cabin</em>. Christen easily located her phone between two couch cushions, where she’d been sitting during dinner.</p><p>She was just turning to sneak out again when she heard music, drifting from a further room.</p><p><em>Don’t follow it, just leave</em>, she told herself. <em>What if it’s someone like Alex?</em></p><p>But against her better judgment, she found herself wandering curiously down the back hallway. The sound of the piano keys, playing a sweet, familiar melody, grew louder. Past the room with the ping pong table, dim light shone from a far door into the shadowy hallway.</p><p>Christen approached slowly and peeked inside the large room. It was something of a den and storage area, with board games and outdoor gear stacked neatly on shelves, and an older set of living room furniture—probably retired from the main living room after it became too ratty.</p><p>And there was a piano. And there was Tobin, sitting alone at the piano, facing away from the door. Her fingers danced across the keys with surprising delicacy, her eyes nearly shut, the faintest trace of a concentrated frown on her face.</p><p>Christen leaned against the doorframe and just let herself marvel. Her father had made sure she learned about classical music when she was little—not out of any love of the art, but mostly to ensure that she’d come off as cultured to impress business contacts. It had mostly been a bloodless exercise, memorizing composers and time periods and testing herself on snippets of famous orchestral recordings.</p><p>But this—this, what Tobin was doing right now—made Christen wonder if she’d really ever heard music before at all. It was as though Tobin and the instrument were one. Her fingers, long and confident and skillful, moved almost unthinkingly across the keys, but never missed a single note. Her touch seemed simultaneously masterful and reverent. The melody was vaguely familiar to Christen, but she’d never heard it like this before, <em>really</em> heard it—raw and soulful, with tinges of rich mournfulness around the edges.</p><p>Slowly, as if drawn in by some magnetic force beyond her control, Christen approached the piano. As she carefully sat down next to Tobin, Tobin glanced up.</p><p>“Chris.” Tobin’s eyes widened. Her fingers stilled on the keys.</p><p>“No, don’t let me stop you,” Christen whispered. “Please keep playing.”</p><p>Tobin paused, then nodded. She picked up where she’d left off, but now with her eyes wide open and a smile playing around the corner of her mouth, glancing between the keys and Christen.</p><p>“You like it?” Tobin asked softly.</p><p>Christen could only nod.</p><p>“It’s Chopin. A nocturne,” Tobin explained, as the music reached a long swell. “Nocturnes are written to be music for the night.”</p><p>“It’s beautiful,” Christen murmured. “It’s…sad, isn’t it? It’s a little wistful.”</p><p>“Well…” Tobin let her voice taper out. She played on for another moment before seeming to gather her courage. “I guess I was being a bit of a drama queen just now, because I chose something sad on purpose because…I was wishing you were here. And that I was playing for you.” She let out an airy little chuckle. Christen felt her insides glow, rosy and tingling. “I guess maybe I should play something happier now.”</p><p>“No, this is perfect,” Christen urged. So Tobin just smiled, and played on, and Christen edged closer and closer to her on the bench. And when the last notes, drifting and soft and painfully beautiful, floated into the air, Christen leaned her head tentatively on Tobin’s shoulder, and hoped it served as enough thanks for all the words she couldn’t quite find in the moment.</p><p>Tobin turned and threw her arms around Christen, holding her so hard it took her breath away.</p><p>“I missed you,” Tobin murmured into Christen’s hair. They rocked back and forth a little, and Christen swore she could still smell California wildfire on Tobin’s skin, smoky and raw.</p><p>“When I called Ashlyn yesterday, it was really just to figure out where you were this weekend. If she’d said you were in Barberry Stone, I’d be there right now. If she’d said you were in New York City, or fucking London, I think I would’ve gone. God, I missed you so much, Chris.”</p><p>“Me too,” Christen responded, letting her heavy head rest on Tobin’s shoulder. She racked her brain for something to say to sufficiently capture her longing. And then she thought of one. “I listened to your Christmas voicemail like, five times a day.”</p><p>Tobin burst out laughing, and they pulled apart a little, just letting their hands linger on each other’s arms. Christen could feel Tobin’s breath on her face. Her honey brown eyes were so close. She was smiling, huge and happy. But her face was patient. She was letting Christen take the lead, letting Christen make all the decisions.</p><p>And Christen took a deep breath, and pulled back. She fixed her hair and looked around the room. On the couch, there was a folded up, lumpy blanket. It looked thin and rough, and ragged around the edges. Tobin had brought in one of the large, square throw pillows from the outside couch. “I didn’t even know this room was back here. You’re sleeping here?”</p><p>Tobin took her cue. She also sat back, closing the cover of the piano. “Yeah. I think it’ll warm up faster than the room outside. And I won’t get woken up if people decide to visit the kitchen or whatever in the middle of the night.”</p><p>“Hm.” Christen stood and wandered over to the couch. She stroked her hand across the top of the folded blanket. It was scratchy against her soft fingers.</p><p>“You know how, um, you know how on that first day we spent time together, we went on all those errands, and then at night I fell asleep in your car on the way home?” Christen blurted out.</p><p>Tobin got to her feet as well, looking at Christen with worried eyes. “Yeah, I remember. You had a nightmare, and then we got in that fight.”</p><p>“Yeah.” Christen looked down at her hands, still ashamed of the way she’d behaved that night. “I remember when you were trying to comfort me that night, you said that you didn’t understand why I was so self-conscious about the nightmare, because I had just gotten into a car accident, and it was natural.” She bit her lip. “But what I didn’t tell you was that…uh…”</p><p>Had the air in the room suddenly grown thin? She felt a tightness rising in her chest. She tried to breathe through it, but her throat felt frozen in place. She lifted a shaking hand to her neck.</p><p>“Hey…” Tobin said softly. She stepped up to Christen and took Christen’s hands in hers, then drew her onto the couch, almost onto Tobin’s lap. She rubbed the back of Christen’s neck, and down to her upper back, in slow, soothing circles. Christen gasped in one breath, and then another. “Hey, take your time. You can tell me anything. You know that.”</p><p>Christen nodded. She focused on the feeling of Tobin’s fingers, still warm and steady on her back. “Um, what I didn’t tell you was that I had those nightmares before the car accident.” Her voice grew so low she could barely hear it herself. “I still have them. All the time. Every night. And, uh, I scream.”</p><p>Tobin’s jaw clenched, and her eyes looked pained.</p><p>But all she said was, “Thanks for telling me that, Chris. That must be hard for you.”</p><p>“I’m telling you because…” Christen faltered again. To steel herself, she picked up the fat square throw pillow and held it in her hands. The nubby floral fabric was tough and stained. She pictured Tobin’s soft, warm cheek resting against it, in this freezing, lonely room. “I’m telling you because, uh, you could stay in my cabin tonight. If you want. I didn’t want you to think that I didn’t want to offer. But you don’t have to say yes, because I’ll wake you up, you know, with the screaming.” Then she thought of a better solution. “Or, I mean, I could stay here. And you could take my cabin. Actually, that would be better—”</p><p>“Hey.” Tobin rested a gentle hand against Christen’s cheek, and Christen stilled her racing heart. Tobin’s gaze was soft and searching, but also wild with hope. “…are you sure? You don’t need to offer if it makes you uncomfortable. I’m really fine in here.”</p><p>“I am sure,” Christen said, and it was easy, because it was true.</p><p>And that was how Christen found herself wandering back down the wooded path to her cabin, but this time, with Tobin by her side. The cold night air seemed to crackle with electricity between them. Christen could feel her heartbeat high in her chest. She was nervous. But in a good way.</p><p>Since Christen had already gotten ready for bed, she got under the covers right away, making sure to stay conspicuously on the very far end. If she moved her butt over even an inch, she’d be sitting on the nightstand instead of the mattress. She pulled out a book of poetry she’d packed to distract herself from her nerves.</p><p>But when Tobin emerged from the steamy post-shower bathroom with her hair damp, wearing boxer shorts and a loose-fitting tank top, it took every ounce of Christen’s well-trained self-discipline to keep her eyes on the page.</p><p>The words stopped making sense. She stared absentmindedly at the letter <em>e</em> in a word, hyperaware of Tobin’s figure moving around the room in her peripheral vision. The soft rustle of the blanket as Tobin slipped under it was the loudest sound Christen had ever heard.</p><p><em>Read the next word</em>, she urged herself, but she was having some trouble even remembering what book she was holding in her hand.</p><p>“Chris?”</p><p>“Hm?” Christen flinched and glanced over at Tobin. She was staring a little worriedly at Christen. She had these thick-rimmed glasses on. <em>My god, how is she this attractive?</em></p><p>“I said, what book are you reading?”</p><p>“Um…” Christen didn’t want to have to close the cover to check the title. That would make it too obvious that she was a lovestruck idiot. “It’s, uh…it’s…”</p><p>“Hey, Chris,” Tobin said gently. She leaned in towards Christen, but she didn’t shift any closer on the bed. “You seem stressed. Are you absolutely sure about this? I can go back up to the lodge. Seriously. It’s not a big deal. The last thing I want is for you to be nervous or self-conscious.”</p><p>“I know.” <em>Yeah. Yeah, it’s definitely because of the nightmares that I’m so on edge. And not because she’s so fucking hot. Let her think it’s the nightmares.</em> Christen gulped. “I want you to stay.”</p><p>“You sure?” Tobin checked again.</p><p>“I’m sure.”</p><p>“Okay.” Leaning over to pull the cord on the lamp, Tobin shot Christen that brilliant, sweet smile of hers. It was the last thing Christen saw before the room went dark.</p><hr/><p>Silvery-gray morning light.</p><p>A soothing, faint smell, like bonfire smoke and almond.</p><p>Warm blankets bundled in around warm toes.</p><p>Something silky-smooth, and warm, and solid, that was pulsating up and down in a slow, comforting, beat, and—</p><p>Oh, it was Tobin’s shoulder.</p><p>Half-asleep, Christen fluttered her eyes open and saw, inches away, the sharp angle of Tobin’s jaw. Tobin was sprawled out in the middle of the mattress, on her back, as if she was making a snow angel. Christen was curled up into Tobin’s side, her head on Tobin’s shoulder, her thighs sandwiching one of Tobin’s legs between them, Tobin’s warm arm under her neck.</p><p>A few thoughts went ricocheting around Christen’s mind all at once:</p><p>
  <em>She’s so perfect.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Wouldn’t it be nice to wake up like this every day?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Oh, wait, god, I need to get out of this situation before she wakes up. This is so embarrassing. What if she thinks I did this on purpose? How am I going to get my leg out from under hers—</em>
</p><p><em>Wait</em>.</p><p>Christen froze.</p><p>The friendly morning shadows played on the walls, and Tobin’s chest rose and fell as she slept, and everything was calm and happy and—</p><p>“I didn’t have a nightmare!” Christen gasped. She bolted upright—or tried to. Her leg tangled in Tobin’s, and she only succeeded in twisting around on her side, knocking her elbow awkwardly against Tobin. <em>Oops</em>.</p><p>Tobin startled awake, leaning up on her elbows and brushing her hair out of her face. She looked utterly bewildered for a second, and then a big, confused smile spread over her face as she saw Christen leaning over her, their legs still all tangled in each other’s. “Chris?”</p><p>“I didn’t have a nightmare!” Christen repeated, sitting up. She looked around the room like it was heaven on earth. Then, elated with disbelief, she launched herself forward into Tobin’s arms. “I can’t believe it!”</p><p>“Chris,” Tobin laughed, her arms coming up around Christen’s shoulders. She buried her face in Christen’s neck and spoke, all groggy and hoarse and cute, into Christen’s hair. They clung to each other a long moment. “Chris, that’s awesome!”</p><p>“it’s better than awesome,” Christen declared. “It’s…it’s magical.”</p><p>“Magical, huh?” Tobin sat back. Her eyes raked up and down the sight of Christen scrambling off the bed amidst the rumpled sheets, her sweater falling off one shoulder, her curly hair backlit by the rising sun, with a huge smile on her face. “Yeah, magical,” she repeated to herself, her voice suddenly hoarser than it had been a second before.</p><p>They were alone in the main kitchen in their pajamas, already drinking coffee, with toast in the toaster oven, when the door open and Alex walked in.</p><p>“Hey,” she said sleepily to Tobin, processing her first.</p><p>“Hey,” Tobin responded.</p><p>And then Alex saw Christen behind her.</p><p>“Hey,” she said, her voice suddenly sharp and suspicious.</p><p>“Hey,” Christen replied awkwardly.</p><p>“Heyyyy!” Pinoe sashayed in the door, eyes wide, peering between Tobin and Christen.</p><p>As she made her way into the kitchen, she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively at Christen. “Sooo…did you sleep well?”</p><p>“I slept great, actually!” Christen exclaimed, still thrilled that she hadn’t had a nightmare.</p><p>Pinoe burst into delighted laughter, and Tobin flushed beet red, and Alex glared balefully at everyone in the room.</p><p>“I mean, no!” Christen sputtered. “Pinoe, I—you know that’s not what I meant—we didn’t do anything—” She felt herself flushing red as she grew flustered and upset.</p><p>Seeing the mortification take over Christen’s face, Tobin stepped in front of her. “Cut it out, Pinoe,” she growled. “It’s not funny.”</p><p>“It’s not,” Pinoe amended hastily, as soon as she saw that Christen was actually upset. “Sorry—don’t worry, Chris, I’m just being an idiot. Really. Just never listen to anything I say, okay?”</p><p>“Hear that?” Tobin said, turning back to Christen with a cheeky little grin. She laid a soothing hand on Christen’s arm. “We’re all good. Pinoe’s just being an idiot.”</p><p>“I’m…totally being an idiot,” Pinoe muttered under her breath, though—as she watched Tobin gently hand Christen a piece of perfectly buttered toast and smile at her like she was the sun—her dancing eyes conveyed something more like, <em>Actually, you two are the idiots here</em>.</p><p>“You’re all idiots,” Alex snapped. It was as if Tobin’s soft protectiveness somehow made her even angrier than Pinoe’s jokes. “It’s too early in the morning for this. Wake me up in another hour.”</p><p>She stormed out of the house. Christen felt the sting of her departure on the surface, but her joy this morning ran too deep to be fully bothered by it. Tobin was frowning, but Pinoe also seemed undisturbed.</p><p>“Don’t let Alex get to you, Chris,” Pinoe said easily, helping herself to some of the coffee they’d made. “She’s just used to being the most beautiful, popular girl in town, and then Kristen Channing shows up, and<em> poof</em>.”</p><p>“But that doesn’t make any sense,” Christen argued. “She’s still that girl. It’s not like I’m any competition for her.”</p><p>It made her a little uneasy. What could Pinoe mean? She wasn’t attractive. In fact, she knew for a fact she wasn’t attractive, because once, when she was in middle school, she had overheard one Press Electronics board member say to another that it was “a pity the older daughter isn’t more marketable, like the younger one.”</p><p>(“<em>Unmarketable</em>.” What a sterile way of saying “ugly.”)</p><p>But even the pain of that memory felt far-off and insignificant when Pinoe barked out another disbelieving laugh and Tobin smiled at her over the rim of her coffee cup. As if she really thought Christen was beautiful.</p><p>With Tobin by her side, the whole day passed in a glorious blur of hiking and drinking and games. Even Alex’s bitter glares couldn’t diminish the luster and luxury of being able to look up and see Tobin right next to her, smiling at her, whenever she wanted.</p><p><em>Do it,</em> a voice inside urged Christen. <em>Tell Tobin you want her, as much as she wants you. Tell her you choose her.</em>   </p><p>And perhaps for the first time ever, instead of freaking out and letting the possibility overwhelm her, Christen sat and mulled over the feeling. <em>Maybe I will</em>, she thought, looking up from her game of Scrabble with Alyssa, watching the way the setting sun lit up Tobin’s face as she and Moe sat next to each other on the piano bench, plunking out the notes to some children’s song and laughing hysterically. <em>The first night I sleep next to Tobin is also the first night I haven’t woken up screaming with nightmares in god knows how long? That can’t mean nothing, right? Is that the sign I’m looking for? </em></p><p>After dinner, Pinoe finally got her hot tub wish, and the girls scattered back to their cabins to change. Christen and Tobin were walking in companionable silence side by side—Christen already feeling a little breathless at the thought of soon seeing Tobin in a bikini—when Tobin suddenly halted halfway down the path.</p><p>“Hey,” Tobin said. “Let’s sit here a second.”</p><p>She was gesturing towards the little stone bench overlooking the hills. Christen had almost forgotten that she’d originally planned to sit there and look at the stars.</p><p>“This is always my favorite part of coming on this cabin trip. Just sneaking out by myself while the other girls are partying, coming to this bench right here, and just looking up.” Tobin gestured eagerly towards the sky, but her eyes were on Christen. “Check it out.”</p><p>Christen looked up and gasped.</p><p>A vast blanket of twinkling stars glittered above their heads, the dim spiral of the Milky Way winding its way through behind the sparkle. “Wow…” Christen marveled. She tilted further back, clasped her hands under her chin and looked back and forth, marveling at the way that the canopy of light seemed to shift around her. The stars seemed to expand until they filled her entire field of vision, blurring and wavering in front of her.</p><p>As if it took great effort, Tobin finally turned from staring at Christen to look up at the sky too. “Have you ever seen stars like this before?” she murmured.</p><p>“No,” Christen said.</p><p>She thought about the last time she had really looked at the stars. Looked <em>hard</em>. She could remember as clearly as if she was watching a film.</p><p>During that last terrifying year in California, she’d often had Gerald drive her to the Griffith Observatory, where, using the Press Electronics clout, she’d been able to get in after closing and wander the place by herself. She would stand out on the balcony of the observatory dome, the faint stars glittering above her, the veins of city lights spreading below her.</p><p>And she would stand there and think about the way her family had splintered and shattered before her eyes, leaving her standing alone in the wreckage.</p><p>The memory hit her hard; dragged her down to someplace deep and dark.</p><p>“Do you ever think,” she said suddenly to Tobin, her voice shaking, “about how we say we’re looking ‘up’ at the stars? But we aren’t really looking up. Up and down are just social constructs. The earth, the solar system, the galaxy…they’re not up or down, there’s just hanging there in the abyss. We’re not looking up. We’re just looking. Into the abyss around us.”</p><p>She used to have this thought all the time.</p><p>She’d gone to the observatory one last time, just a couple weeks before she escaped from her father. One tiny figure alone in a cavernous, fancy building, as she so often was. Feeling like she was the only soul in the world, as she so often did.</p><p>Thinking, as she so often did, that if she died—if she vanished—if she just floated, untethered, from where she stood, and was carried out into that endless abyss, never to return—that nobody would care, or even notice.</p><p><em>Would anybody care now?</em> She wondered. She didn’t realize she was crying until she felt hot, silent tears sliding down her cheeks, dripping from her jawline down her neck. The beauty was overwhelming. So was the fear. <em>If I drifted out into space. If I just vanished into the dark. Would anybody notice? </em></p><p>Then suddenly, she felt Tobin’s hand on hers, warm and solid and sure. Tobin laced their fingers firmly together. If Tobin realized Christen was crying, she didn’t say a word. She just held on.</p><p>And there was Christen’s answer. Tobin noticed. Tobin cared. She was holding on. She was tethering Christen to the earth. She wasn’t going to let her float off into the abyss.</p>
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